


saltwater and parsley

by tomorrowisforeverallours



Series: one day we'll all be stories [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Drowning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Misunderstandings, Near Death Experiences, Sailing, dramatic scenarios just because, predictable plot twist is predictable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 12:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrowisforeverallours/pseuds/tomorrowisforeverallours
Summary: i speak in tongues, and they hear singingAt high noon, he goes to the edge of the deck and dumps a full purse of gold into the sea. Under Sobel's judgmental gaze, David murmurs an Aquan prayer to the powers that be for keeping him alive long enough to complete his mission.He almost misses it, and then he thinks it a trick of the light, but there is undoubtedly a flash of shark fin that slices through the glass surface of the water before sinking away.





	saltwater and parsley

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of at least five Very Long fics, so don't fret about how many characters are missing! 
> 
> Titles for this series are from my good friend noah's music. Please go to continental-drift.bandcamp.com and listen to &: MAROR, particularly, for this fic. I am not sponsored by them for this, lol; the tattoo of their lyrics on my skin ought to be endorsement enough.
> 
> EDIT 5/2/2020: I realized as I was writing the sequel to this that I gave Sink an accidental promotion and wrote him as a General lol. Edited to Colonel for accuracy.

The rumors spoke of much he already knew and of much he did not want to know.

They spoke of a chest in the highest reaches of the manor, under many a lock and key. True - David had seen it. They spoke of his father's greatest treasure, hidden within that chest to all eyes but his own. True. They spoke of the woman he called Mother in hushed murmurs, of "seal-maiden" and "monster" and "sea-witch.”

It is when the rumors began to turn towards him, to "the fish boy" and "aren't his teeth a little too sharp?" and "he doesn’t belong here," that he breaks down and goes to the woman he calls Mother, because if he is sure of nothing else it is that she has never dealt in lies.

"You are my heart," she would say in her oddly-accented Common: a finger tap against his chest, a closed-mouth smile. "You carry it with you. I see it in your eyes, Kenyon."

Only now, as he gazes across the sun-sparkling ocean that stretches as far as the eye can see and farther, shoulders blanketed with the dappled pelt of a woman he never knew, does David begin to understand.

It was never him that she loved.

* * *

Captain Lewis Nixon of the _Currahee_ is less impressive than David would expect.

Then again, everything he has heard of the man is through his father's arrangements with one Stanhope Nixon, and Gods know that David does not match up to his father's praises, either.

They are kindred spirits, or so David hopes, which is why he keeps his expression open and amiable as the man strolls up to him, right off the ship as she docks in Port Toccoa. Nixon is in desperate need of a good shave and a lengthy bath, but his dark eyes are sharp and his grimace holds a trace of a genuine smile in it. They shake hands.

"Webster, right?" he says.

"Call me David. And you're Captain Nixon, I presume?"

"Call me Nix." He throws an arm around David's shoulders, an immediate rejection of the social norms they were both raised with, and David's mouth falls open a little bit. It's been years since anyone has touched him for reasons between formal and sexual, and Nix must know that, because he elbows David with a smirk. "What can I say, the sailors have rubbed off on me. Not literally, or I'd be a lot happier than I am now, but what can you do. You wanna get a drink, Webster?"

The weight on his shoulders is hot and heavy; David loves the idea of the scandal it would cause in his father's parlor. "What about your unloading?"

"Eh, Sobel can take care of it. Come on, there's a bar that ought to have my name on it."

They end up in a hole-in-the-wall establishment that Nix seems to frequent, judging by how quickly the bartender has a bottle of whiskey uncorked for him. David accepts a glass of the same, though he sips it rather than throwing back the whole two fingers like Nix. The bartender rolls his eyes and pours the man another one just as freely.

"So," starts Nix, "dear old Dad said you'd be joining us, but never bothered to actually explain what you wanted. Besides a scenic trip on the finest galleon in the kingdom, of course." He props his feet up on the table and is either oblivious to or deliberately ignores the bartender's glare. "Something about an island?"

"Yes." David fidgets with the glass in his hand. "There are specific islands I need to visit."

"Yeah, got that. How about the reason?"

He swallows around the lump in his throat. "My mother wanted to be laid to rest there."

"Oh." Nix's eyes go wide and he leans forward, legs swinging off the table automatically. "Webster, do you mean to say we're transporting a _body?_ Because I'm not too superstitious, but that feels like we're just begging for the gods to strike us down."

"No, not a body," David says, thinking of how the waves had crashed against the cliffside on that chilly April day, as the pallbearers laid her to rest. He had tasted salt on his lips and did not know if it was his tears or a gift from the sea. "But there's something I have to return there. For her sake."

"Where're we talking about?"

“Mayim.” David says the name in Common, unwieldy compared to the elegance of its name in Aquan, and Nix whistles, long and low.

"You know that place is all ruins now," he says. "Only ones to frequent it are the Merfolk. And you'll be in quite a pickle if they catch you trespassing."

"I know. But I have to." His father had told him where to take it with a tremulous voice that emotion had never quite suited, and folded the seal-skin into his arms with more gentleness than David had ever known him to possess. It lies at the bottom of his trunk, now, hidden beneath layers of new sailing clothes and books he doubted he'd have time to read. "It's where she was born, and it's where she met my father. I have to take her back there."

Nix stares at him for a moment, then shoots the rest of his whiskey, as though the mere suggestion of caring for his parents makes him uncomfortable. "Huh. Well, you're paying, so we'll take you wherever you want. And your dedication's pretty admirable. So we'll go. And if you die, well, that's on you. Any questions?"

David has a million questions, but most of them will be answered by observing his crew, so he shakes his head.

"Good. You're welcome to stay if you like, but I'm just going to drink about six more of these," Nix gestures to his empty glass, "and then wander back to the ship, so I won't be much in the way of company. Head back to _Currahee,_ though, and I'm sure the men'll give you a proper welcoming. That is, if Sobel doesn't have them all swabbing the decks."

"Who is Sobel, anyway?" asks David.

"Ah ah, you said you didn't have any questions," Nix quips, but there's no fire in it. "He's my first mate. Or my babysitter, depending on how you see it. My dad put him in place to 'keep me in check,' but he mostly just harasses my men when he thinks I'm not paying attention. It's no secret that the only reason I haven't let the crew toss him overboard is because I did that to the last one and dear ol' Dad threatened to take her away from me."

"Her?"

" _Currahee._ Well, and the fish would probably throw him back, and then we'd really have a problem on our hands." Nix chuckles at his own joke and swipes the whole bottle of whiskey from the bartender when he swings 'round again. "Don't let him bother you, though. You're a paying passenger, not a sailor, so he's got no special control over you unless you fuck up."

"And I'm not planning on doing that," says David wryly.

"Well, then, you're golden. Now, if you'll excuse me," Nix salutes him with the bottle, "I'm going to get foxed."

David leaves the man to his vice, strolling back towards the docks, where the _Currahee's_ folded sails beckon to him. The main deck is bustling with sailors transporting cargo from the hold to the dock, where shipyard workers carry it off to some unknown warehouse. In the midst of it all is a dark-haired man barking orders, and David finds it appropriate to assume the man's identity to be Sobel.

He awkwardly walks on deck, ignoring the curious looks from the crewmembers. He doesn't even get a word out, though, before the man is accosting him, face much too close to David's for his comfort. "And just who do you think you are, strolling onto my ship like you own it?"

"I-"

"We aren't hiring. And if we were, I'd want a man that looks like he's been on a ship before, and that's not you."

"Excuse -"

"Now, if you have no coherent reason to be here, I suggest you get off my ship."

By the gods, David understands now just why everyone hates this man. His conditioning warns him to hold his tongue, but he glances around and sees the eyes of the crew on him, clearly waiting for him to turn tail and run, and that's just not David's way. Against his self-preservation instincts, he steps closer and jabs a finger to Sobel's chest, channeling his father's disaffected tone as much as possible. "Funny you say that, as I was just speaking to Captain Nixon, and he seems to be under the impression the ship belongs to him."

Sobel blanches; behind him, David hears the soft snickering of onlookers. "Now, perhaps you'd like to try the introductions again. My name is David Webster, and I happen to be the patron of the next leg of your journey. To be blunt, I'm paying you. So keep your judgments to yourself, and maybe we'll learn to get along, hmm?"

David tilts his head, shows off the too-sharp points of his canines in a smile; Sobel looks like he's decided the cure for scurvy is to bite straight into a lemon. They stare each other down for a long moment before Sobel looks away with a jerk. "Lipton!"

"Yes, sir?" Another man starts to approach them, burly arms flexing as he carries a crate in his arms.

"Put that down," he snaps. "Help... Mr. Webster here, get settled."

"Yes, sir," says Lipton with much more respect than he seems to deserve. He passes the box off to someone as Sobel gives them both a sharp nod and stalks away, yelling something about a shipment of peaches. Then he turns to David, a sparkle in his eye. "Well, Mr. Webster, would you like me to show you around the _Currahee?_ "

There's a scar on his cheek that ought to mar his features, but David finds it quite dashing. "Please, just David is fine," he smiles. "And I'd love to see her, but I should probably pick up my things from the inn first. I wasn't sure if we would be sailing out right away, so I left them there." It had pained him to leave his precious cargo in the hands of an innkeeper, but his father had paid for quality, so they were probably trustworthy.

"That's fine. I'll escort you. Which inn was it?"

"Er, it had something to do with foxes."

"Fox's Company, then. This way." Lipton leads the way off the ship and into the crowd, ignoring the hollers of his boys. David can't help a smile, though, especially after hearing one of them shout something like "Love you, Ma!"

"So," he starts, "just what have I gotten myself into by paying to sail on the _Currahee_? If you don't mind gossiping like old maids. The leadership dynamic is certainly... interesting."

"Interesting's one word for it," Lipton mutters under his breath, before catching himself. "I wouldn't want to negatively color your perception of our officers, sir."

"Oh, that's already happened. Besides, your phrasing itself suggests there is something negative to be said." Lipton makes a face, clearly displeased with his slip-up, and David chuckles. "Don't worry. I may have exaggerated my importance to Sobel a bit; I'm really just a curious passenger. My family has no intention of trying to buy Nix out or anything like that."

"Nix wouldn't sell her even if you tried," says Lipton, the tense line of his shoulders softening. "He's a good man, Captain Nixon. A bit more fond of the bottle than most, but it doesn't stop him from doing a good job when it really matters. He'd give his life for that ship and most of her crew, and vice versa. Sobel, on the other hand... I've never sailed under a stricter mate. Sometimes I think he's just trying to push the men to be their best, but he's going about it the wrong way, that's for damn sure."

"Is anyone a fan of him?"

Lipton hums, his smile honest yet mischievous. "His mother, probably."

David laughs. "Maybe. Here's the inn - I'll just duck in and collect my things, alright?"

"Sure."

It doesn't take long to exchange his room key for his trunk and haul it out to the street, where Lipton manhandles the luggage away from him.

"You really don't have to."

"It's no trouble."

They walk in comfortable silence back to the _Currahee,_ where Lipton gives him a cursory tour of the ship and her crew. There's Spina, the surgeon; Malarkey, a ginger whose "cooking is almost as horrible as his stench," according to his friends Skip and Penkala, and to which the cook takes great offense. The ship's boatswain is a burly man named Bull, outmatched in resting-bitch-face only by Johnny "Pee-Wee" Martin, their master gunner. The rest of the crew seems to care little about their new passenger, so David is left to his own devices when Lipton is summoned away.

"You're welcome to spend time on deck if you'd like," he says at the door of David's cabin. It's little more than the size of one of David's closets back home, but it allows for some privacy, and that's all he needs. "But if you'd rather rest, that's fine too. I hope you'll enjoy your journey with us, at the very least."

Already David can see why the crew adores Lipton, even if the man is utterly oblivious of his idol status. He's genuinely good-hearted in a way that ought to be suspicious, but is simply endearing. "I'm sure I will."

* * *

Despite Sobel's every attempt to prove otherwise, David and the crew remain in high spirits for the first leg of their journey.

David is intent upon using this trip as a chance to learn anything and all that he can about the ocean and her secrets, including those of sailing, since his experience is limited to the calm summer waters of the lake near their estate. Some, like Martin, are utterly loath to entertain his awkward questions - probably for the better, then, that David is not interested in learning the mechanics of a cannon. Nix and the K Squad, as they've dubbed themselves, are much more eager to gossip about their shenanigans on the _Currahee._

"Hey, remember that time you guys dragged me behind the ship in a barrel?" asks Skip, throwing the skin of the potato he's peeling at Malarkey's head.

"How could we forget?" says the cook dryly.

"That was great."

"It was fuckin' stupid, is what it was," says Penkala, tossing the end of a carrot at him.

"Hey, nothing's stupid until someone gets hurt," responds Skip with a grin. David covers his smile from where he sits a ways away, listening on their conversation and absently chronicling their journey so far in his journal. The sun beats fiercely down upon their shoulders, soaking into his dark hair until David runs his hands through it and his palms absorb the heat; as far as the eye can see is shining, sparkling blue.

There's a peace in the sight that David hasn't felt in weeks.

Said peace is momentarily broken when the pair's vegetable peeling war catches him in the crossfire. David's mouth falls open in surprise as a curl of potato skin lands on his notebook, leaving a moist spot and smearing the ink of the word 'weather.' A bolt of indignation strikes him, but he glances at the sheepish Penkala and can't find it in him to be angry, so with an uncharacteristic grin, he throws the scrap back in Penkala's face.

"Agh!"

"Ha! That's what you get, Penk, dragging our dear Mr. Webster into your shenanigans - "

"Muck! Penkala!"

The three of them stiffen, and even David winces as Sobel stalks towards them from across the deck. "If you have time to laugh, then you have too much time on your hands. Reps, now."

"Three times up, three times down," Skip and Penk drone in unison, climbing to their feet. Malarkey is tight-lipped and dutifully peeling vegetables, and David starts to write furiously about nothing in his journal, both of them waiting until the looming shadow of Sobel moves away. When he deems it safe, David looks up to see Skip and Penk climbing side-by-side up the rigging, high-fiving Shifty the lookout, and then scrambling down only to start again, cheered on the whole time by their crewmates' hollers of "Hi-ho silver!"

"Isn't that dangerous?" David asks.

Malarkey looks up as well, then shrugs. "Probably, but Sobel doesn't give a damn. Probably wants them to fall one of these days, but those two are monkeys and it's a fine day."

"Not for long, I think," chimes in another voice; a sailor in green crouches next to them. David's not sure they've been introduced, but he's prepared to fake familiarity until the man smiles at him. "I'm Hoobler. Ship's carpenter. Don't worry, we haven't met yet so you're not expected to know that," he adds, laughing at David's poorly-disguised breath of relief.

"David Webster. Nice to meet you." David tips his head back to look at the sky, cluttered with picturesque fluffy clouds. "Do you really think it's going to storm?"

"Yep, right about sundown."

"Hoob has a knack for this sort of thing," says Malarkey. "It gonna be bad, Hoob?"

"Pretty bad."

"You told Captain Nix yet?"

"Just did. I'll let him tell Sobel, though, I'm not in the mood for his shit." Hoobler nudges him with a knee. "You don't believe me, Web, just wait. It'll be a helluva storm."

And he's right.

The morning's friendly sunshine has snuck behind cloud cover at midday, and by the time the sun sinks beyond the horizon for her rest, an ominous darkness has taken her place, accompanied by a fine mist that blurs David's vision. Waves lick the sides of the _Currahee,_ eager to wreak havoc on her decks, and the crew seethes with just as much energy as they batten down for the incoming gale.

David lingers at the door to the stairs below deck, wondering if there's something he could be doing to help. He'd briefly considered keeping his mother's seal-skin with him in case the ship goes down, but in the end he'd left it hidden in his chest. Having it with him won't do any good if _Currahee_ sinks, and he's not quite interested in flaunting it about. He would ask Nix or Lipton what he ought to be doing, but they had both taken one look at the sky and at him and told him to wait out the storm below deck.

He scowls at the thought until a heavy hand thumps his shoulder, shocking him. "You wanna be useful?" asks Bull, glancing down at David with unreadable eyes. He plucks the glowing cigar from his lips, sticks it into the rain until it's gone out, and then sets it on a nearby barrel.

"Y-yes, if there's something I can do -"

"Oh, don't drag him out here," snaps Martin, sopping wet as he approaches them with a scowl. His expression grows even sterner, if that's possible, when Bull reaches out to sweep the hair out of his eyes, though now he glares at David, as though he had chosen to observe the affectionate moment. "He's a paying passenger, not a crew member. And a rich one, at that. Let him out there and we'll have to have _two_ funerals - yours and his."

"I know my way around a ship," David protests, flinching when the full force of Martin's irritation is focused on him.

"Oh, yeah? In what, a dinghy on a lake as smooth as glass? Whole different experience, kid."

"I-"

"What if you go overboard? I'm not diving in to save your ass. Neither is he." Martin levels a sharp glare at Bull, as if to impress the demand into him.

"If I go overboard, then it's my own fault," says David calmly, despite the anxious knot in his stomach. The thought of slipping and sinking beneath the dark, roiling waves is a nightmare David refuses to let his mind imagine. He knows ships, knows his sea legs are trustworthy and he knows that everyone expects him to lounge below deck while they do the heavy work of keeping the ship afloat. Which is exactly why he can't do it. "I'm willing to take that risk."

Martin stares him down, but at a holler from Lipton he throws his hands up in surrender. "Fine! I don't care! I'm not in charge of you damn fools. Always picking up strays..." and he storms off.

David isn't sure how to react, but Bull chuckles. "Don't mind him. Com'on."

He sets Webster to lowering the mainsail with a few other men that appear similarly terrified, but determined to prove their worth. It's hard work - the rain pelts their faces, the rope slips and burns in his hands, and it's near impossible to stop shivering. But there's something satisfying about the ache in his muscles and the taste of salt water in his mouth. Not even Sobel's grating screeches can drone out the rhythmic chanting of the crew, led by a drenched but spirited Captain Nix.

_"Highty tighty, Godsalmighty, who the hell are we?_

_Zim zam, Goddamn, the crew of Currahee!_ "

It's out of sync and ridiculously catchy and David finds himself laughing and singing along as he moves to another sail. Despite what he'd told Martin, most of his sailing experience was on calm waters with his father and a crew that let him do little more than steer the boat. He's always felt like he belonged on the water, but never on a ship - until now.

The ocean seems determined to ruin his newfound happiness, however, tossing _Currahee_ about like a child throwing a tantrum. David catches wind of a shout from below - "We're springing leaks, Cap!" - just as a strong gust nearly knocks him over.

The next wave goes higher than their heads; David sees his own terrified eyes reflected in its dark surface, illuminated by a sudden flash of lightning, before it descends upon them.

"Hold on!"

Nix's warning comes too late. Water sweeps David's feet out from under him - his hands scramble for purchase on the deck, the ropes, anything - it all slips away from him and he's falling, falling, and -

He hits the water with a deafening splash; shocked by the impact, David gasps and then chokes on the influx of saltwater in his mouth. Oddly enough, his first thought is of how smug Martin will be at having been right. Not that it will matter if he doesn't make it back to the ship.

He is a talented swimmer, but somehow it takes much more effort than ever before for David to kick himself to the surface. He comes up spluttering, limbs working furiously to keep his head above water to little avail, watching the shadow of the _Currahee_ loom over him like a mountain over its meager footvillages. A figure leans dangerously over the ship's rail. "Webster!" shouts Nix, dark eyes wild and panicked. "Hang on! Don't drown before you pay me!"

David would laugh if he could, but it's all he can do to not swallow more saltwater as the waves break over his head. The _Currahee_ rocks with the waves, farther and farther away with each crest, and his limbs feel made of lead, sapping his strength with every movement. It's beginning to feel hopeless, and broken fragments of a desperate Aquan prayer slip from David's lips each time he surfaces. As a child he'd cherished the language, thinking it a secret his mother had made up just for the two of them. As a teenage scholar he'd discovered it didn't belong to him. But it feels proper to invoke its power now. " _Mother, I'm not ready to die._ "

Gods, he can't do this much longer.

"Webster, don't give up on me!"

It seems so much easier to go still. The darkness slips over his head.

_Is it my time, ocean? Will I get to see her again?_

A pair of strong arms wrap around his waist. David goes limp, ready and willing to be swept to his fate, but then his head breaks the surface again and his lungs spasm with the shared life-instinct of all living beings. He coughs and hacks and is peripherally aware of a force pushing him towards the _Currahee,_ though what it is he knows not.

In a matter of seconds, David is clinging with all his meager strength to a rope Nix tosses him, slamming bruisingly against the side of the ship with every rock of the waves. As someone begins to heave above him, nearly yanking his arms out of their sockets, he takes a moment to look around wildly for any explanation of his newfound hope.

All he sees is the disappearing edge of a black-tipped shark fin below the waves.

His eyes track that shadow until a hand grabs him by the collar and Bull heaves him onto the deck, choking him in the process. David curls into a fetal position on the deck, coughing up saltwater like it's his job, or perhaps his destiny. He is faintly aware of faces hovering over his, one of them being Nix, the other Martin's.

David looks at his thin-lipped scowl and laughs. "You may as well say it."

He goes off on David immediately. "I fuckin' told you so!  Who do you think you are, scarin' us like that, you goddamn moron -"

"Alright, Johnny, think he gets th' message." Bull's hand lands on the slighter man's shoulder and he gets steered away, though not before Bull shoots him a worried look. "Next time, Webster, maybe y' should stay down below."

"Maybe," David groans. With a godly amount of effort, he pushes himself up to a sitting position, where Nix offers him a sip from his ever-present companion. For the first time in his life, he cherishes the burn of alcohol down his throat - the best kind of reminder that he's still alive.

"Let me know, next time you're going to go throwing yourself off the ship," the Captain quips, though the tremble in his hands betrays his blasé tone. "Gives me time to come up with an explanation for my dad."

"I'll try." David rolls over, poking his head over the edge of the deck to stare at the waters he had very nearly drowned in. The waves are calmer now, and the rain has eased off as well, leaving them drenched and shivering but glad to be alive as calm's blanket returns to the night.

"Webster. Really?"

"I'm just looking," says David, scouring the water for any sign of his savior. He can still feel the phantom pressure of those arms around him - not soft and comforting like his mother's embrace, but the protective vice grip of an unknown lover. "There was a... person. Or a spirit, or _something_. That helped me get back to the ship."

Nix's puzzled expression is a sight to behold. "What? There was a shark that considered biting your legs off, I think, but that's it."

David frowns; something in the statement doesn't sit right with him. "No... that shark wouldn't have hurt me."

"What, you think it _helped_ you? That's dolphins, Web. Getting your sea creatures mixed up."

"...I don't know. I just feel as though I ought to, I don't know, thank it. To give thanks for my life."

Nix shrugs, licking the last drops of liquor from the mouth of his flask. "Well, then do it. Make some sacrifices, sing a song or something. I'm not the one that keeps the gods appeased on this ship. But do it tomorrow. We've had enough excitement for one night." 

* * *

The night's events take quite a toll on David, and the sun is high above their heads by the time he drags himself out of his cabin in the morning. His ribs are mottled blue and purple with bruises, and his stomach still churns with seawater, but the congenial ribbing he gets from some of the crew is enough to make him overlook his discomfort for the sake of the story.

At high noon, he goes to the edge of the deck and dumps a full purse of gold into the sea. Under Sobel's judgmental gaze, David murmurs an Aquan prayer to the powers that be for keeping him alive long enough to complete his mission.

He almost misses it, and then he thinks it a trick of the light, but there is undoubtedly a flash of shark fin that slices through the glass surface of the water before sinking away.

It isn't until Lipton glances at him questioningly that David realizes he is smiling. It seems he may have a guardian of sorts. He likes sharks.

He doesn't mention this sighting to Nix or anyone else, worried they will think his mind addled by trauma or something. But the moment lingers in his thoughts long after Malarkey's mediocre stew and watered-down ale have settled heavy in his stomach with the rocking of the _Currahee._ An hour of staring at the whorls in the ceiling planks ends with David up on deck again, resigned to waiting a few more hours before sleep will come to him.

The night's watch leader, a tall man named More, gives him a nod and summarily chooses to ignore him. David climbs up to the poop deck, gravitating to the far stern where he is free to stare, alone, at the moon's reflection in the water. Her light illuminates all, and a faint breeze dances across his arms and through his chest hair (as he'd been convinced to forgo the layers by Skip).

David's thoughts grow quiet. He sighs.

Then he falls flat on his ass as something hurdles out of the ocean to smack him in the forehead.

"Ow, what the fuck?" he yelps, voice embarrassingly girlish. Sitting up, he rubs the sore spot with a hand and looks down to find a gold coin in his lap. "What?"

A moment later, another coin flies up to land in his hands.

A million questions run through David's mind, but there's only one way to answer them. He cautiously scoots towards the edge, letting his legs dangle over the side of the ship and bracing himself with a post between his legs.

He leans over the edge.

Floating there in the water, bobbing up and down in the waves almost effortlessly, is a man. A shirtless man, to be precise, and the detail matters because he is one of the most attractive men David has ever laid eyes on. Moonlight shines on porcelain skin with an odd shimmer to it, only contrasting further with the shadows cast from razor-sharp features and dark, full hair. In his hands is the coin purse he'd given as tribute to the waves.

The man's teeth sparkle when he looks up at David, gleaming white and sharper than any he's seen before. _"If you're trying to thank me, you're doing a bad job. Nobody wants your filthy money."_

His Aquan is flawless; it's obviously his first language, since David could only dream of mimicking his accent. His expression must look ridiculous, David knows, but he doesn't manage to close his mouth until the man flings another coin at him and nearly makes it in. _"Ah, damn."_

 _"What - who are you?"_ David stammers, fumbling the grammar in the face of such perfect diction.

 _"Oh, you haven't figured it out yet, angelfish? Should've known you're just a pretty face. I'm surprised you can even pronounce my language,"_ mystery man snarks, lips curled in a nasty smirk.

Despite his lingering astonishment, David bristles at the insult. _"And you're an bad-mannered stranger that doesn't know how to properly introduce himself. For all I know you're just a siren waiting to lure me to my doom."_ For he must be Mer - there's no other explanation. Something in David's heart thrums a bit at meeting someone like his mother. Like him.

 _"Aww, you think I'm pretty enough to be a siren? I'm touched, angel. Here, lemme give you a hint,"_ says the Mer, before sinking vertically below the waves.

David's breath catches almost-painfully in his chest as the surface of the water breaks and the man leaps through the air, thrice spinning gracefully. At his navel fair skin transitions to silver-grey shark skin, looking almost silky in the moonlight, and each of the fins is tipped with that familiar black. The long tail splashes water into David's face when he lands, disappearing again.

It's the most beautiful sight David has ever seen.

He is still gaping when the Mer resurfaces, and the sight of water trailing down those secretly-so-powerful muscles to rejoin the ocean sends a lance of heat straight down his spine. His face must be burning red, but all he can feel is a sort of reverent awe.

 _"You saved me,"_ he breathes, and gets a grin in return.

_"I sure did. Got anything to say?"_

David leans forward, just wanting to get as close to the Mer as possible. _"What's your name?"_

A moment passes, that grin turning almost arrogant. _"Joe Liebgott, at your service. But not really."_

_"David Webster. I'm in your debt, Joe. Thank you for saving me. Is my gold not good enough for you, though?"_

Joe ties the drawstring of the purse tight and then tosses it back to David, who fumbles the catch. _"Nope. Don't need it and it'll just poison the water. Got anything better?"_

David recalls the contents of his trunk, expression sobering faintly as he thinks of the treasure at the bottom. He wonders what Joe would think about that. He does think of one option, though, and climbs to his feet. _"Perhaps. You'll still be here in a few minutes?"_

_"Oh, I have nowhere better to be, angel."_

_"...right."_

Acting as casual as possible, David heads back to his cabin. He rummages through his things for the chocolate he'd been planning to gift to Nix when this is all over and hurries back to the top deck.

Joe is swimming in lazy circles below him, and the sight makes this all so very real - David hadn't hallucinated it, which is perhaps the most surprising thing of all. The Mer crooks an eyebrow at him upon his return, the gills on his neck slowly ventilating as water passes over them. _"So, whatta ya got?"_

 _"Can you catch?"_   David asks in response, sitting back down. Joe snorts.

_"Better than you can, clearly. Lay it on me."_

He tosses the bar of chocolate down, impressed by the speed with which Joe propels himself to the right spot to catch it. The Mer unwraps the package with a baffled expression, glancing up at David as if to say "what the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

 _"It's food. Trust me."_ A low grumble of distrust reaches his ears before Joe takes a huge bite out of the chocolate, Adam's apple bobbing violently. David clicks his tongue. _"No, you have to take it slow. Let it melt in your mouth."_

Joe glances up at him; only now does David notice his pupils are slits. _"You know, I tend to swallow my prey whole,"_ he quips, and there's an undercurrent of something lascivious and tempting and oh-so-wicked in his tone that, combined with the smirk, has David wondering if Joe intends to eat _him._ Probably not in the way his long-abstinent body wishes.

He's read too much literature featuring cross-race romances to find any flaws with the idea morally, and David accepted his attraction to men a long time ago, but thinking through the logistics brings a brilliant heat to his face.

 _"No time like the present to try something new,"_ he squeaks, coughing when Joe's smirk only widens.

 _"Couldn't've said it better myself, Web."_ Joe pops a piece of chocolate into his mouth; David smiles as his expression goes slack with surprised pleasure, eyebrows creeping up his forehead. _"Mmn. Damn, Web, that's pretty good. What's it called?"_

_"Chocolate. And my name's David."_

_"Sure, Web. Well, I'll be taking this,"_ says Joe, beginning to wrap the chocolate again, and David's mouth falls open as he realizes what's happening.

_"Wait, are you leaving?"_

_"Well, as delightful as your company has been, Webster, not all of us are rich pretty boys that can afford to do nothing on a ship all night. And you're fucking up my sleep schedule,"_ says Joe bluntly, using the universal swear.

It shouldn't mean anything to David. He's given his thanks, and now he ought to put the incident behind him, write it all off as a good anecdote to go in his memoir. But he's enchanted with the sight of a real Mer, and what's more - with Joe, even if the thought makes him blush. He can't let this be their last meeting. _"Are you... following our ship?"_

_"Tch, like I'd follow this shipwreck."_

_"Well, will I see you again?"_

_"Depends. You got any more chocolate?"_

David frowns. _"No."_

 _"Well, then I guess you're outta luck,"_ says Joe, but his eyes sparkle with mischief. _"Nah, I'm kidding. I don't normally get the chance to talk to humans, and I'm sure things have changed since the last time I did. You wanna meet again tomorrow?"_

David exhales slowly, a sigh of relief he hadn't known he needed, and smiles. _"I would like that."_

Joe blinks at him a moment, expression gone slack, and then shakes himself back to his unimpressed state. _"Alright, then. Don't jump over the side of the ship again, though, or I won't save you."_

 _"I didn't jump, I fell!"_ argues David, but Joe just flashes him a toothy smirk and dives into the abyss, black-tipped tail splashing hard enough to speckle David with water. He sits there for a few more minutes, suspended with the hope that Joe will poke his head back out of the water, but it seems the Mer truly has retired for the night. He sighs and looks up at the stars, which have never appeared more numerous or more beautiful than right now, from the deck of the _Currahee._

In the morning, David will question his sanity and probably convince himself that it was all a sleep-deprived hallucination. For now, though, he simply wonders what else the gods have in store for him.

* * *

As hard as it is to act normally the next day, David manages it. The absence of his chocolate convinces him it was real - _Joe_ is real - but despite his vehement staring at the water, he sees no shark fins trailing after the ship. if the Mer truly is following them, he doesn't want to be tracked.

He spends most of the day learning what he can about navigation from Nix, who names his astrolabe "the love of his life, second only to the smooth burn of Vat69." None of it makes much sense to David, whose memory excels with words rather than numbers. At least he's not Sobel, whose mere presence apparently disturbs the delicate navigation instruments.  

In the end, David vows to hire a proper navigator, if ever he gets the chance to sail on his own.

The rest of the day is spent below deck with Hoobler, chatting about everything and nothing as the carpenter tars weak spots in the ship's hull to stop her from leaking. He's funny and refreshingly honest, like most of the crew, and David finds himself bonding more and more with these men. Even Martin's unimpressed scowl puts a smile on his face, and David doesn't quite know how to cope with this sudden desire to belong.

When night falls, though, David wants nothing more than to be left alone. He returns to the top deck, kicking his heels against the side of the ship and squinting across the black waters in hopes that he might spy a swoop of dark curls before they make themselves known.

The water is choppy, the breeze vicious, and David is about to give up and head below deck when a sharp whistle catches his attention. He stiffens, relaxing only when Joe's gleaming smirk pops into view.

 _"You came back!_ " he can't help but explain, grinning despite himself.

_"Course I did, angelfish. Had to make sure you didn't drown while I was gone."_

David rolls his eyes, but a chuckle escapes him nonetheless, bolstered by Joe's twinkling eyes. He's not sure why the presence of the Mer feels so right, but he knows that the tight knot that has resided in his chest ever since his mother's death untangles itself a little more with every mischievous flash of those sharp teeth. _"As you can see, I am perfectly alive and well. Now, what did you want to talk about? You mentioned wanting to know what's changed?"_

_"Yeah, who's king? Last I heard, that old guy still hadn't gone belly up."_

* * *

As David quickly discovers, the last time Joe was in contact with humans was well over five years ago, and it seems that most everything has changed in that time. As a teenager, David was less concerned with the politics of the royal court and more interested in reading every text he could get his hands on, so the conversation doubles as a history lesson for him. He soon finds, however, that for as pretty and intelligent as Joe may seem, some of his opinions are simply wrong.

_“War isn’t inevitable. Conflict over resources may be a perpetual issue, but there is precedent for peaceful negotiation between nations.”_

_“Yeah, you say that, but how many ‘conflicts’ did you tell me about that were your kingdom’s fault?  Eight? The only reason we Mer aren’t besieging your ships every day is because your people capitulated when they realized we were the superior force.”_

_“In the water, maybe.”_ Joe bares his teeth at him and David winces, instinctively unsettled at the sight. They’ve been having this same argument for three consecutive nights, now, and while it is more intellectually stimulating than most of the conversation he’s had on the Currahee, he’s tired of having to continually defend his people against someone who knows nothing of them. Then again, that’s probably how Joe feels, too.

But he can’t simply let the topic go. If David believes in anything, it is that all races are essentially good, and their achievements far outweigh their blunders.

 _“I wish I could show you our kingdom,”_ he says absently, staring out at the reflection of the stars in the glassy surface of the water. He doesn’t see the way Joe’s eyes go wide. _“There’s so much to admire, even in just the capital. Perhaps then I could convince you that humans aren't so bad."_

Joe hums like he's considering the thought; there's something soft and affectionate in the sound. _"Yeah, Webster? What'd you show me first?"_

 _"The Royal Library,"_ says David immediately, unable to help a smile at the memory of its grand bookcases, mahogany stretching from floor to ceiling and packed with tomes beyond number. For a moment, he even imagines the sea air to smell of leather, parchment and ink. _"It's incredible. A copy of every book in the kingdom is kept there, and the scholars can tell you about anything. I could spend my entire life in there and still be nowhere close to reading everything. It's,"_ he sighs, _"my favorite place in the whole world. Well, next to this."_

 _"What, your ship?"_ Joe snarks.

 _"No."_ David rolls over to lay on his back, tipping his head back over the edge of the deck to smile at an upside-down Joe. From this angle, he finds himself enamored with the razor's edge of his jawline, the plush pout of his lower lip. _"The ocean."_

_"Oh."_

_"I love it,"_ David continues, gaze flickering past Joe to track the rippling waves. _"There's so much mystery and power to it. So much potential. We can cross her, try to map her, but in the end neither your people or mine can really understand all her secrets, you know? Sometimes I think I was born for the ocean... but, well, I wasn't."_ His mother was, though.

Joe is quiet, drifting closer to the _Currahee_ with every bob of the waves. There is something intense in the dark pools of his eyes, an emotion that David cannot put a name to; nevertheless, it sends warmth rushing from his cheeks to settle in the pit of his stomach, smoldering like a bed of coals. For a moment he has the wild, impulsive idea to slip over the side, to wrap his legs around Joe and trust that hidden strength to keep him afloat as he discovers whether those lips are as soft as they look.

The way Joe is looking at him, he might be thinking the same thing. But there's a whole world between them, and -

"Oi, Webster! The fuck you doin'?"

David jolts up, smacking his head on the rail. Through his pain-watering eyes, he recognizes Cobb, one of the night watch. David hasn't spoken to him much, which is fine because from what he's heard, the man is only a crewmember still because Nix doesn't have a proper reason to dismiss him. Right now, Cobb is glaring at him resentfully and throwing back draws from a flask.  "Thinking of going overboard again? Won't get you any attention if nobody's on deck."

"Nothing of the sort," David says calmly, despite his racing heart. Had Cobb seen anything? He doesn't dare turn back to make sure Joe is hidden. "Just enjoying the night air."

"Right." Cobb rolls his eyes. "Like you do every night. You get off on that or something?"

David makes a face, flushing; he's not sure whether he hallucinates the soft sound of Joe's laughter or if the Mer is actually listening in. "What?"

"You heard me. Fuckin' landlubber." Cobb wanders away, muttering invectives under his breath. David watches until he's sure Cobb is otherwise occupied before turning back to the ocean, but the water is still.

"Joe?" he calls softly, but the Mer is gone. Must've decided not to risk being seen again. David swears under his breath and stalks below deck to his hammock. If his dreams are haunted by chocolate eyes and the feel of sandpaper skin under his fingertips, no one needs to know.

* * *

David typically prides himself on his intellect. When something catches his interest, he will spend months tracking down every book, every scrap of information available to him until he can spout facts on command. His mother used to fondly call him a walking encyclopedia; others turned the endearment into an insult, but it is her memory and spite that makes him take pride in it.

It has only become a problem recently, and only because David finds himself consumed with the need to know everything he can about the Mer, sharks, and Joe.

And the man is painfully tight-lipped about himself. David knows he is the eldest of six, from a well-to-do family (though how well off, Joe refuses to say), and that his time spent with David is usually while he's shirking his other responsibilities. But any more personal conversation is quickly diverted, usually by Joe starting an argument. It is painfully frustrating.

Not that David has been entirely honest, either. When Joe interrogates him as to his reason for sailing to the ruins of Mayim, he'd stammered something about 'research' and 'experience,' not wanting to voice the truth.

Despite their mutual secrecy, though, David can't help but feel a tug between the two of them - except he's the one on the hook, reeled further in with every flash of a smirk, every coquettish endearment sent his way.

He's falling, fast and hard, but if nothing else the ocean will swallow him up when he lands.

 _"I wish we could get closer,"_ he blurts once, two days before Nix expects to anchor within landing distance of their destination. A thick, rolling fog spreads as far as the eye can see, obscuring all vision to the point that the night watch (Martin and Bull) have given up all pretense of doing their job and now sit on the main deck, conversing in low tones. David cannot see the surface of the water, but he trusts that Joe hasn't swum away on him. _"I - I mean, I wish I could see you. Up close."_

 _"I can see you just fine,"_  teases Joe.

David frowns. _"Yeah, and it's not fair.  I don't know how we'd do it, though. I can't very well pull you up on deck."_

_"Not with those noodlefish arms."_

_"Hey, I'm stronger than I look,"_ David complains, despite being unable to see his antagonist.

_"Sure, sure. Here, go up to the front of the ship. I have an idea."_

David isn't quite sure what the Mer has in mind, but he gets to his feet nevertheless, grabbing his small oil lamp. He passes Bull and Martin on his trek from stern to bow, hiding a smile at the sight of Johnny napping against the larger sailor's shoulder. When he reaches the forecastle, he squints into the fog. _"Joe?"_

_"Here, Webster."_

The words come from the starboard side; David leans over the rail and can barely make out Joe's silhouette, clinging to the buoy that marks where they'd dropped the anchor. As he watches, gaping, the Mer grabs the line and swims close to the ship. Then he begins to climb the rope hand over fist, tail pushing against the ship for leverage, until he can grab the wooden railing.

The sight of a pale, sharp-clawed hand scratching the wood snaps David out of his trance and he hurries to help pull Joe onto the deck, despite vocalizing his panicked thoughts the whole time. _"This is a horrible idea, someone is going to see you, oh, Gods, Joe, this is ridiculous -"_

 _"Shut up, Webster,"_ Joe gripes, flicking his tail against the rail to push himself fully onto the deck. The sudden strength of the movement has David falling backward as his counterweight suddenly disappears, but with Joe's chuckles so close, he can't even be embarrassed.

In the faint lamplight, hair drying into curls on his forehead, Joe is the most attractive being he's ever seen.

David gapes at him. Up close, his gaze slides from the too-sharp teeth that poke into a full lower lip, to the gill slits on his ribs, to an abdomen that truly must have been sculpted by the gods. He is most fascinated, however, by the Mer's tail and the twitch of muscles that belies its true strength.

Almost instinctively, David reaches a hand out, stroking right at the base of the fin on Joe's back. His fingers skate back and forth, memorizing the silky smooth feel when he moves one way and the rough scrape of sandpaper scales in the other direction. Only when Joe's tail snaps against the deck does he jerk away, looking up with wide eyes at the grinning Mer.

 _"O-oh, um, sorry,"_ he stammers, face burning red.

 _"Like what you feel?"_ asks Joe, batting his eyelashes dramatically. David laughs, but his heart is pounding so hard he's sure the other can probably see it.

_"Soft as a baby's bottom, Joe."_

_"Humans must have weird fuckin' babies."_

David's laughter is genuine this time, but lasts for only a second before a hand covers his mouth; the tips of Joe's claws graze his stubbled cheek. _"Shut up, or the crew will think you're a madman, laughing at the fog,"_ Joe whispers, eyes dancing with mirth.

David puffs out a breath indignantly, but finds himself distracted with the barely-there feel of Joe's palm against his lips. It strikes him, then, how close Joe is - how his expression goes soft and fond when they meet eyes - how the hand covering his mouth turns to cup his cheek in a caress. When the Mer doesn't move, David blinks coyly and tilts his head, lips parting in unspoken invitation.

Joe kisses exactly as he would expect, all fervor and dominance and bite. David tries to match him, at first, but Joe growls low in his throat and nips, drawing blood with the prick of his teeth, and all his resistance melts away at the taste of copper. Joe smothers the moan that escapes him then, crowding forward until David's back is pressed to the side of the cabin.

 _"Better keep quiet, Webster,"_ he breathes wickedly against David's lips. _"Wouldn't want someone to come looking for you."_

 _"You're the worst,"_ David retorts, stubbornly ignoring the way his blood rushes south at the possessive squeeze of Joe's claws around his waist. _"As if you don't like this just as much as I do."_ Joe's muffled gasp when David straddles him is enough to prove him right, and despite being acutely turned on by the muscle rippling between his thighs, he has to stop. _"We're not doing this here, though."_

 _"Oh, yeah? I gotta convince you, Webster?"_ Joe takes it as a challenge, leaning in to brush his freezing lips across David's jaw and neck, teeth grazing at his pulse point in a fashion that has David shivering, both in instinctual fear and arousal. _"Can't be that hard."_

David frowns, pushing at Joe's shoulders to get him to back off. _"I mean it, Liebgott. I'm sure you're not interested in getting caught by the crew. And you'll have to try harder than that to seduce me."_

Joe bares his teeth, obviously frustrated, but David isn't backing down. _"I'll show you harder, Webster. Get it? Isn't that a human thing?"_

The innuendo is so ruined by Joe's self-satisfied commentary that he has to chuckle; the tension between them fades away into the fog. _"Yeah, that's a human thing, but I'm not explaining our sexuality to you right now."_

 _"Ugh, fine. You can give me a physical demonstration next time,"_  the Mer leers. _"How're you gonna entertain me then, Web? And if you're serious, you should probably get off'a me before I change my mind."_

David flushes, moving off of Joe to sit beside him. A smile twitches at his lips as an idea comes to mind. _"Well, you never finished telling me the story of Flash Gordon,"_ he says, grinning as Joe's expression lights up in genuine enthusiasm.

_"Shit, you're right! Okay, where was I... okay, so King Kala captures him..."_

David grins, settling his head on Joe's shoulder, and lets the slow rock of the _Currahee_ and Joe's hushed storytelling take him away.

* * *

He wakes up to the sun piercing through his eyelids and a foot gently poking his side. "Hey, David, wake up."

Groaning, David shields his eyes with a hand as he sits up, blinking rapidly until he can make out Lipton standing above him, looking amused. "Hmm? Did I..."

"You must've fallen asleep out here," Lipton explains, offering him a hand. David takes it, muscles aching in protest of the sudden change in position. "You're lucky the sea remained calm. Be more careful next time, please."

"Sure, Lip," he responds absently, gaze drifting to the sea. He doesn't know when he'd fallen asleep, doesn't remember Joe leaving.  The sting of the cut on his lip, though, is a solid reminder that the night had occurred, kisses and all.

"David? You alright, boy?"

He turns to Lipton and grins, heart fluttering like a hummingbird's wings. "Everything's just great, Lipton."

* * *

Two days later, _Currahee_ weighs anchor off the shore of Mayim.

The archipelago of islands is covered in lush greenery, tropical flowers, and the white sandstone ruins of the people that had once been Mer, before they had turned their eyes to the sea and not looked back. It's rumored that the tunnels beneath the islands are still in use, as much of what had been solid land now lies beneath sea level, and David absently wonders if he'll see Joe as he watches the crew prepare a dinghy to set to shore in.

The seal-skin folded neatly over his arms burns with the heat of the morning sun. David is aware of the crew's curious eyes on him, the topic of their muffled whispering no secret, but keeps his expression stone-cold until Hoobler comes up and throws an arm around his shoulders.

“Selkie, huh?” he says casually. “Should've guessed it by the eyes. My Ma was an aura. That's where I got my knack for weather forecastin’.”

David starts. “What do you mean, my eyes?”

Hoobler snorts, jostling him a little as if he can't believe the question is genuine. “You ever look in a mirror, boy? Those baby blues were her gift to you. I know a couple other half-Mer I can introduce you to, when we get back to Toccoa, but none of them got your looks.”

The promise strikes something in him, some deep hurt he's buried for years, and all of a sudden David finds himself blinking back tears. He's never been ashamed, per se, of his bloodline. No, after his father had sat him down and instructed him firmly that “a Webster doesn't cry,” he had decided to wear his heritage like a badge of honor to spite the rich snobs in his social circle. But he's never met someone like him before.

Somehow here, holding the last remnant of his mother in his arms, he feels both comforted and more alone than ever.

The words to explain all of that fail to come, though, so he just pats Hoobler’s hand weakly. “Thanks, Hoob.”

“A’course.” He gets a toothy smile in return as the carpenter moves away to bark orders and delegate work. The storm had caused some damage that a regular day's work couldn't repair, so Nix had agreed to stay in the area for a few days. David isn't sure how long it will take him to properly lay her to rest, but he has all the materials necessary for the rites - sea salt candles, ceremonial spirits, and the gold wedding jewelry his mother had once worn. He can only hope it will be enough.

Sobel's grating voice disturbs his introspection. “I'm afraid we don't have all day, Mr. Webster,” the pseudo-captain says curtly, gesturing to where Skip and another rookie hand (Garcia, perhaps?) stand in wait for him. David hurries to join them, if only to distract Sobel from the suspiciously mischievous noises coming from behind him.

“You alright, Web?” asks Skip, wearing an oddly serious expression as he helps David into the dinghy.

He smiles a little, touched by the concern even if he feels vaguely sick to his stomach. “I'm fine, Skip.” He nods to the sailors working the lines; Bull's lips twitch around his cigar as they begin to lower the boat into the water.

The waves lick the very top of the hull when they splash down into the water. Skip unties the boat from its line, then both of them take up the oars and dexterously begin to row towards shore.

David takes the opportunity to admire the sparkle of the sun-bleached ruins in the uninhibited sunlight. “It's beautiful, isn't it?”

“Aye,” Garcia agrees, slowing for a moment before he catches himself and starts rowing double-time, cheeks flushing sheepishly.

Skip laughs. “You're good, Tony. It's a damn pretty sight. And neither of us are gonna yell at you like Sobel.”

“I know.”

“It's not nearly as pretty as I am, though.”

“... keep telling yourself that, Muck.”

“Rude.”

David tunes out their good-natured ribbing. When the dinghy comes close to shore, he hops out and wades barefoot through the knee-high surf, enjoying the feel of sand squishing between his toes. He observes the dry grains sticking to his skin and leg hair like he's never walked on a beach in his life, because if he focuses on the present then maybe he won't think so much about the past. Or the future.

If he closes his eyes, he can see his mother on this same beach, once upon a time, walking with unsteady legs and carrying her skin folded in her arms, just like he is now. Or perhaps she would have entrusted it to his father. David cannot imagine him as anything younger than he is now, with his stately salt-and-pepper beard and lined face.

But his mother is eternally young in his memory. David cannot discern how her time on land may have aged her; to him, she will always possess the silky brown hair and enigmatic smile that were an irresistible temptation to a young David Webster Sr.

Not for the first time in his life, he wonders if she would have been better off had he never been conceived. Almost undoubtedly the answer is yes.

But she never allowed him to entertain such thoughts, and David will not give into melancholia here. He clutches the seal-skin to his chest.

“I'm going to venture inland,” he tells Skip and Garcia.

"You sure it's safe to go alone?” Skip asks, sitting up on his elbows from where he's reclined in the sand. His shirt is slowly floating away in the backwash. “The fish might not like you trespassing.”

“They're not fish. The Mer are a respectable race,” David snaps. Skip’s eyes widen and he puts his hands up in surrender.

“Hey, alright, sorry. No offense to you or your, uh, yeah.”

“Are you sure you wouldn't like an escort?” Garcia asks quietly, disturbing the painfully tense silence as David tries to glare his disapproval into Skip’s brain.

He tempers the look for Garcia, biting back a nasty retort. When had his emotions gotten so out of control? “I’d like to be alone, thanks. I won't go far, and I'll yell if I need you.”

“Alright, then.”

Garcia turns back to the ocean. Skip has devoted himself entirely to his sunbathing, it seems. David dismisses himself.

He marches inland until the shore disappears behind a canvas of green. Afraid of getting lost, David is careful to bend branches and trail flower petals as he goes, mostly apathetic to his careless destruction of the plant life, thoughts consumed with the aching hole in his chest that is his grief.

It had been filled by thoughts of Joe, just a bit, and that makes him only guiltier.

Farther inland, the jungle gives way to crumbling sandstone ruins. David would be glad to spend the day exploring the islands on any other occasion. As it is, he pushes on until he finds it: a lagoon, filled with salt water as parts of the land had given into the sea. David imagines it to be a beautiful ring of green from a bird's eye view. In the center of the lagoon, he can see shadows indicating that the Mer have built here and likely still inhabit the area.

The water sparkles a brilliant aquamarine, gently lapping the soles of his feet; a chorus of birds harmonizes in the distance; his hair rustles around his ears in the breeze.

He can lay her to rest here.

With an extremely delicate hand, David rests his mother's seal-skin on a boulder, worn clean and smooth by the wind and rain. Then he sets about emptying and organizing the contents of his pack. The candles are dug carefully into the sand so they won’t fall over, then lit with a tinderbox after the wind seems to recognize his aim and dies down. He cleanses the sand by liberally dousing it with liquor; same with the gold jewelry, which he clenches in one hand as he tries to limit his trembling.

He’s come all this way without her, but now David’s not sure he’s ready to let her go.

He has to, though. The ocean’s song resonates in his chest like a church choir filling the space of a cathedral to its highest height, beckoning to him. David’s place is on land, he thinks, but hers never was.

David drapes the pelt around his shoulders, kneels where the surf licks at his knees and calves with every soft roll inland, and begins to chant.

_“Oh, Sea Father, ye who anointed this child with the Water of Life…”_

He stumbles over the words to the funeral rites a few times, but never once does his memory falter. David wants to do this right, or at least as right as a half-human can. When it comes time he stands and wades further into the lagoon, repressing a shiver as the ice-cold water reaches up to his waist. The waves are stronger here and he widens his stance for stability.

 _“These riches of the land I surrender to you, to sponsor her return to the seas she was forced to forsake. With this I hope to make amends for the sins of the father.”_ David lowers the necklace gently into the verdigris waters, letting it slip between his palms and drift away, carried by some invisible current.

He imagines the necklace drifting back to his mother’s birthplace, settling in the sands where she learned to speak and swim and see. He imagines his mother’s mother, a family he will never have the right to know, finding it and knowing their daughter has been returned to the homewaters.

David imagines being forgiven and knows they will never deserve it.

A disturbance in the water catches his eye. David watches curiously as the trail of bubbles comes ever closer, momentarily distracted from his mourning.

Somehow, he knows it is Joe even before the black-tipped fin slices through the water and the Mer emerges, shaking water droplets from his hair like a dog. _“Figures I’d find you here, angel. Can’t keep well enough away from us, can you?”_ he crows, pearly whites sparkling in a smug grin.

Then he pauses, smile frozen in place. David rolls his eyes and is about to retort when he sees Joe’s gaze locked over his shoulder, on what he quickly realizes is the seal-skin.  “Oh.”

 _“Oh?”_ Joe’s expression turns absolutely _murderous. “And just what are you doing with that, Webster?”_

_“Look, I can explain.”_

_“And you will.”_ With a few powerful lashes of his tail, Joe surges forward until he floats inches apart from David, in his face and much more threatening than last time. This close, David can see every ripple of gold in those slit-pupil eyes, every sawlike notch on the serrated edge of every tooth. Joe appears seconds away from ripping his throat out, but he refuses to let his trepidation show. _“Who did you steal that from? Where are they?”_

 _“She’s not here,”_ David frowns. _“And I-”_

 _“What do ya mean, ‘she’s not here’? You fuckin’ monster! Which innocent selkie did you take that from, huh, Webster?”_ Joe reaches out for the seal-skin and David slaps his hand away; Joe catches his wrist, squeezing until he winces as the bones grind together. _“Give me that.”_

 _“No. And if you’d let me get a fucking word in edgewise, I’d tell you,”_ snaps David, his anger overlaid by guilt. After all, he may not have been the one to lock her seal-skin in the attic, but his mother may have found some way to steal it and escape. But then he was born, and she stayed. Joe glares at him, lips curled in a vicious snarl, but waits for an answer. _“Look, I’m here because I’m trying to make things right. I can’t give it back to her because… well, she’s dead.”_

_“...dead.”_

_“Yes, dead, Lieb. So I brought her here. To lay her to rest.”_

David stares the Mer down, resolute in his answer. He doesn’t expect that to answer all of Joe’s questions, but he does expect the hostility to lessen a bit, and is surprised when Joe sneers at him. _“Oh, how kind of you, Webster, kidnap a girl and then bring her corpse back to the crime scene. Should’ve expected it of a human. Are you expecting a full-finned ovation, because I’m afraid we’re going to disappoint. At this point you’ll be lucky if I don’t tear you limb from limb!”_

_“I didn’t take it from her!”_

_“Yeah? Then who did, Webster? What did she mean to you?”_

_“She was my mother!”_ David yells, snapping. He keeps going even when Joe’s eyes widen, caught in the emotional whirlwind of the confession. _“That’s what she meant to me, okay? She was my mother. You’re right, though. You want to judge humans? My father took her from here and kept her trapped on land for years. And for what? She said she was happy but I saw how she looked at the ocean. I saw the way her skin cracked and bled because it had been dry for so long. I watched her withering away, and I didn’t do anything about it. You want to know why? Because I was a coward. I was too afraid of losing her to realize that I never should have had her, and my fear killed her. And now she’s dead, and the only thing I can do is bring her back to the sea and hope that she finds peace.”_

Silence falls between them as David fights to recover his breath. He dashes an angry tear from his cheek and flicks it into the water, looking down at Joe and daring him to retort.

The Mer says nothing. Expression unreadable, eyes bright, he merely stares at David in a fashion that makes him both want to sock him in the face and break down in his arms. When the silence proves to be lasting, David sets his jaw.

 _“If you’ll excuse me, then, I’d like to finish what I started,”_ he says bitingly. He pushes past Joe to walk further into the water.

David takes a slow breath, then, attempting to exhale his frustration and heartbreak. The tremble in his voice betrays him as he says, _“With this prayer, I, David Kenyon Webster, do return this child to the seas of her birth, in hopes that she will again bathe in the Water of Life when comes her time.”_

He reaches up and pulls the seal-skin from around his shoulders to hold loosely in his hands. David gives in to the urge to bury his face in it for a long moment, breathing in the scent of damp fur that somehow reminds him of his mother, despite never associating the smell with her. Then he lowers it into the water and slowly lets it go.

As they both watch, the seal-skin shimmers brilliantly in the midday sun, almost as though it had turned to silver in the water. Then it dissolves until nothing but seafoam is left behind.

It is done.

David feels the weight he has been carrying since the funeral disappear from his chest, leaving an aching hole behind. He has done all he can, and it may never be enough, but it is all. Now he is free to try and make his way in the world while coping with the absence her death has left behind.

He turns back, locking eyes with Joe. The Mer hasn’t moved. His mouth is pressed in a thin line, and while David dares him to say anything, he is oddly silent for once. Soon the silence grows deafening.

 _"Say something,"_ he demands. _"You know I was telling the truth now. Do you hate me? You'd be right to. Say something, Joe!"_

 _"I… I need to go,"_ says Joe, biting his lip. For the first time he looks uncertain, eyes darting from David to the dissipating seafoam and back.

_"What?"_

_"I need - I gotta think,"_ Joe insists. Then he dips farther into the water, swimming towards David.

He rarely finds himself speechless, but David's disbelief steals his words for a moment. Then the rage crashes in. _"What? You're leaving, just like that? Not gonna yell at me again? Not gonna attack me for being a halfbreed?"_

 _"No, Web, fuck,"_ Joe breathes, brows furrowed. _"I just - I need some space."_

_"You? I just buried my mother and you need space? What about me? I thought -"_

What had he thought? That Joe was going to wrap him in a hug and tell him everything would be alright? He isn't that kind of person. They don't even have anything concrete; they shared a couple of kisses, but that's all. David doesn't mean anything to him.

He follows Joe, sand falling away from his reach until he is forced to tread water. Joe doesn't move to help him.

 _"Go back to the land, Web,"_ he says. _"Where you belong."_

 _"I don't belong there,"_ David asserts. He runs his tongue over the dull point of his canines, compares them to the deadly edge of those in Joe's grimace. Inferior. _"But I don't belong here, either. Where do I fit, Joe? Do I have to choose? Or am I meant to be forever stuck in the tide?"_

Joe doesn't offer an answer. _"Don't come back here. I'll find you if I want to talk."_

_"If? Bullshit, Joe!"_

He reaches out, fingers skating in an ephemeral touch across his shoulder before it slips away and Joe is gone. David kicks violently, his shouts ragged from exhaustion and emotion both. _"Fine! That's it, then? You've decided for me? Well, I don't answer to you! And I go wherever I want!"_

The only answer he is offered is the breaking of waves and the jarring screech of a seagull.

David swims back to shore, sits on the ground, and cries.

* * *

Day after day, he returns.

At first he goes to the lagoon and shouts obscenities at Joe; he will not hear them, but it appeases David to do it. Then he starts exploring the island ruins, first out of genuine curiosity and then because he can't bear the thought of leaving. The men of the _Currahee_ are glad to take shifts relaxing on the beach while he wanders, and since he's paying by the day for this trip, Sobel cannot complain.

His chauffeurs today are Johnny Martin and Cobb, neither of which appear too enthused to be there. Nevertheless, they row him ashore.

When David informs them that he doesn't require an escort, Martin flops down underneath a tree and yanks his shirt off. His chest is tightly bound with strips of white bandages, but David averts his eyes before he is caught staring and wondering about their purpose. He is rather certain Martin could incinerate him with a look.  

The man reclines in the sand and closes his eyes, expression irritated even at the prospect of a nap. "Fine," he says. "Cobb, wake me up if something happens."

"What makes you think I won't be napping, too?"

Martin opens one eye to look at Cobb as though it is the stupidest question he's ever heard. "Because somebody needs to be keeping watch."

"And why's that gotta be me?"

"Because I said so. Now, shut up."

Cobb scowls and opens his mouth to complain. David doesn't like him enough to stick around and hear it.

He heads straight to the lagoon, where he wades into the water with the familiar confidence of a lifelong swimmer. He can't think of anything particularly vitriolic to start with today, so he just shouts, _"Hey! You there?"_

A current swirls around his feet.

_"I know you haven't left yet! Stop ignoring me!"_

David swims farther out, feet kicking violently to keep him above water.

_"Liebgott! You-"_

He cuts himself off with a gasping mouthful of seawater as a clawed hand seizes his ankle and drags him beneath the waves. Eyes squeezed shut automatically, David begins to thrash in slowly rising panic as he feels himself being pulled farther down with no sign of release; the memory of black water filling his lungs comes back to him like a dream.

But Joe isn't here, and this nightmare is real.

David kicks until his foot comes into contact with something solid and the pressure releases him, but only a moment later does the grip return.

He squints his eyes open despite the burn. They widen when he sees a Mer in scale armor squeezing his ankle, silvery tail flicking as they clearly attempt to drown him, abalone helmet covering all but black eyes and loose white hair. Teeth bared in a wicked grin, they shake the end of their spear in his face.

Even if he could communicate, there's no negotiating with his attacker.

David reaches for the spear's head and yanks it away from them with a short snap. His hand stings something fierce and the red tinge of blood begins to filter through the water but he ignores it, turning the weapon around to jab at the Mer until they let go, wary of getting stabbed.

Then he forces himself to the surface, spluttering and spitting and staring as his enemy pokes their head up.

Their eyes are a void that consumes all sunlight. They bark something incomprehensible and David frowns, brain too oxygen-starved to attempt an escape.

"What?"

The Mer repeats themselves.

" _I don't understand,"_ David tries in Aquan, his thoughts still fuzzy. The unblinking eyes narrow.

 _"Trespasser,"_ they hiss. _"Selkie? No. Human."_ Teeth bared, the Mer bobs closer, staying out of the spear's reach. _"How do you know that name?"_

It takes him a moment to put the before-and-after together as David battles the fatigue that accompanies treading water and being near-drowned for the second time in his life. _"Liebgott? He's… a friend,"_ he says. It may not still be true, but he wants to believe it.

Their expression twists into a furious sneer, much to David's confusion, but he doesn't register the imminent threat until his attacker snarls, _"You will pay for your lying tongue with your life!"_ and surges towards him.

There is no time to dodge. David flinches and squeezes his hands around his stolen spear, willing to defend himself if he must, but uncertain of his ability to do so.

But the attack never connects. Halfway between them, the Mer is suddenly struck by an unknown force and swept beneath the waves in a roiling, splashing whirlwind of a collision. David gapes, feebly kicking his legs whenever the water sinks over his mouth, watching the turmoil settle seconds before the enemy Mer surfaces, spluttering.

He yelps as something brushes the back of his knees, then sweeps his balance out from under him. His arms flail until he touches the distinct curve of a shoulder, and then he knows.

Of _course_ it's Joe.

Joe rises from the aquamarine depths of the lagoon to catch him in a bridal hold, claws pinpricking his skin as he squeezes protectively. He isn't looking at David - the full force of his glare is set upon his attacker - but his grip tightens minutely when David wraps his arms around Joe's neck for balance, so he's not unaware of him.

He's not sure where they stand, but Joe has come to his aid again, and despite the confusion and exhaustion and irritation, he cannot help but feel an all-encompassing sense of relief.

In a commanding voice that doesn't seem to belong to him, Joe lashes out in the language David cannot understand. His interrogation is quick and guttural, and judging by the flustered stammering of the other Mer, they have no good explanation for their actions. Eventually Joe does a strange flick of his hand and the soldier dips beneath the waves. They never meet his eyes.

David tilts his head against Joe's shoulder and watches the trail of bubbles that emerges in their wake. His muscles feel limp and tingly as they float in the water; his chest still aches with the phantom pain of asphyxiation. He closes his eyes, finding it easier to slip in and out of a trance than anything else as they start to move towards shore.

Joe jostles him a bit, and he musters a bleary “Hmm?” in response.

_“You alright, Web?”_

His tone is worried - frightened, even, and David can’t stand that, so he forces his eyes open to blink at Joe in what he hopes is a reassuring fashion. In all likelihood, though, he simply looks ridiculous. _“I am now,”_ he mumbles. _“I thought you’d left. You never responded to me.”_

 _“No, I was just ignoring you,”_ says Joe; David pulls a face. _“I wasn’t planning on comin’ up again, but then someone decided to get himself in some more trouble.”_

_“How did you know?”_

Joe winces, his lips a thin, pained line. _“Well, uh, to be honest, the smell ‘a your blood was hard to miss.”_

 _“Oh.”_ David had momentarily tuned out the stinging cut on his hand; he stares at the thin slice for a moment, flexing his palm to test its mobility. _“They got me, huh?”_ That earns a snort from Joe. David looks up and finds himself awestruck by the half-amused glint in his golden eyes and the curls of his hair and his true, _real_ presence.

He reaches up and presses his hand to Joe’s cheek, wanting to trust his senses. The Mer freezes, a full-body shudder running through him as he gapes at David, nostrils flaring. Rivulets of crimson-tinted saltwater trail down his cheek.

 _“You’re really here,”_ he mumbles wonderingly.

Joe melts. _“Yeah, Web.”_

 _“Are you still angry with me?”_ _  
_

_“No. Never was mad at you, really. Just didn’t know what to think for a while.”_

_“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you why I was really headed here.”_

_“I’m sorry I accused you of abducting a woman you were just trying to honor,”_ says Joe. _“I jumped to some pretty big conclusions there. I just -”_

_“It’s okay,” David says. “I told you, my father stole her skin. You were right to think of humans that way.”_

_“But not you.”_

He hesitates. _“What do you think of me?”_

He doesn’t realize how close they’ve gotten until he can feel the ghost of Joe’s breath against his cheeks, and his own is robbed by the ardently warm look in his eyes.

 _“I think I should’ve realized that no full human could be this damn pretty,”_ Joe breathes.

David grins. He wants Joe to kiss him, but they’ve come close enough to shore that Joe withdraws his support and lets him crawl on unsteady legs onto the sand. He doesn’t leave, though; Joe beaches himself where the water still laps over his beautiful tail, propping himself up on one elbow to stare at David, who collapses with his face pillowed in the sand.

Joe chuckles.

They don’t speak for a while. David listens to the rustling of the trees and watches the slow oscillation of Joe’s caudal fin in the water. Joe’s eyes follow the seagulls pitter-pattering across the beach. It would be foolish to linger for much longer - Cobb and Martin will undoubtedly be wondering where he’s gotten off to - but David can’t bring himself to ruin the moment.

He watches Joe, and Joe watches him. The bushes shift in the breeze.

 _“What just happened, anyway?”_ David asks. _“I was just minding my own business - well, I suppose I was shouting slander at you, but I wasn’t aware that constituted the use of deadly force in your society.”_

Joe snorts. _“You know you’re trespassing here, right, Web?”_

_“No, I’m not, this is neutral ground. It has been since our peoples signed the Armistice. These ruins are protected as a historical landmark as established by the Kingdom.”_

_“The land, yeah. But these waters were never deemed neutral,”_ says Joe, shrugging his free shoulder. _“Technically, you’re still in our territory, but we gotta be lenient about the shoreline or else we’d be fighting constantly. But take the importance of this place and combine it with you shoutin’ shit at me, and you get some angry guards, Web.”_

Unfortunately, his explanation is logical, and David has to admit that he may be in the wrong this time. (Not that he will actually verbalize this realization.) More questions remain to be answered, though. _“What language were you speaking?”_

_“Regional dialect. Aquan is mostly an interspecies language.”_

_“What did you say?”_

_“Mostly just told ‘em to get lost. Nobody else should bother you around here.”_

_“Can you do that? Are they_ your _guard? Or -”_

 _“You still talk too much, Webster,”_ Joe cuts him off, lips curling in a mischievous smirk. He winks at David and he flushes, diverting his gaze to the lone hermit crab scuttling across the sand. He always asks too many questions. _“Nah, it’s alright. Any more questions that I can answer, angelfish?”_

_“...one.”_

_“Go for it.”_

_“Did I do it right?”_ David whispers.

_“Huh?”_

_“The ceremony. Was that proper? I found it in one of my mother’s old books. I recited it so many times but -”_

_“Fuck, Web, you did just fine,”_ Joe assures him, lines creasing his forehead and tight around his eyes. He wriggles a little forward in the sand until they’re lying close together, close enough that David can reach out and settle a hand where he imagines Joe’s hip to be, thumb tracing the transition from human to shark. _“From what I heard, you were doing everything you should have. I’m sure… I’m sure your mother would be very proud.”_

David swallows, blinks rapidly to stave off the tears threatening to escape. _“Thanks, Joe. Sorry.”_

_“Hey, hey. No more apologies, okay? I’ll put it all behind us if you will.”_

To move on from this hellishly painful week of grieving both his mother and his whatever-this-is with Joe is all David could wish for. He resists the impulse to simply lean over and kiss Joe - they’ll have to work back up to that - but he shoots Joe a hopeful grin and finds it mirrored on the Mer’s own face.

 _“I’d like that a lot, Lieb,”_ he murmurs. _“Let’s move on.”_

_“Fuck yeah. Got any chocolate?”_

David laughs. The bushes rustle in the wind.

* * *

He awakens to the sound of a commotion on _Currahee’s_ top deck in the early morn.

The world is still painted in dream-thoughts and David wonders absently where all the fish have gone as he sits up in his hammock. Darkness reigns the cabin until his wandering fingers catch the knob on his oil lantern to bathe the room in soft orange light, which stirs his consciousness to focus.

Whatever is happening up on deck, it has escalated to a loud murmur of activity and some extremely heavy lifting, judging by the dangerous thumping above him.

David wishes for nothing more than to go back to sleep, but the writer in him requires that he chronicle any important happenings during his journey, so he trudges up the stairs to the top deck.

What he expects is for the K Squad to be getting up to no good, or for Sobel to have ordered a deck rearrangement yet _again._

Instead -

“Dear _God -_ ”

He finds a scene that strikes horror and fear into his core and burns itself to his retina. Even when all is said and done, he cannot forget it.

The white light of the morning sun blinds him for a moment, but he rubs it away to find this is no hallucination. The early risers of the crew have formed a loose half-circle near _Currahee’s_ bow, around Sobel, murmuring in confusion. Cobb stands at his shoulder, grinning like a rabid hyena and holding a wicked-looking harpoon. And, twisting weakly at Sobel’s feet, pale and silver skin both scored by the diamond pattern of a net, side grazed and dripping red onto the deck, is Joe Liebgott.

 _His_ Joe.

David is sprinting across the deck before his mind consciously registers the situation at hand. Nor are his thoughts coherent; all he feels is shock and fear and _fury._

“Mr. Sobel!” He shouts; rather, screams. Every word burns with his rage, and judging by the way the crew edges away from him, they can see it. “What the _fuck_ is going on? Joe?”

“Web?”

All eyes flicker to him in surprise, but David only has eyes for Joe. He collapses beside the captive Mer, trembling hands skimming across what skin he can reach through the tangle of rope netting. His injury appears to be merely a flesh wound, but David’s knowledge of Mer anatomy is sorely lacking; it could be serious and he wouldn’t know it. Most concerning, though, is the shortness of his breath and the purple-tipped dart that quivers in his neck. Paralytic.

“Web,” Joe repeats, words so stuttered that David at first doesn’t recognize he is speaking in Common. Somehow, even injured and drugged as he is, the Mer still manages to joke around. It doesn’t hide the fear in his eyes. “You wanna talk t’ your friends for me? ‘M a bit incapacitated at the mo’.”

David rounds on Sobel then, his trembling borne out of the anger that threatens to color his vision red and overwhelm his senses. He steps directly into the first mate’s space, shoving Cobb when he attempts to intervene. It is only the knowledge that Joe needs him that keeps him from punching Sobel in his smarmy, unimpressed face.

He fights with words, instead. “Mr. Sobel. What makes you believe you have the right to injure and abduct an innocent Mer from these neutral waters? As you _must_ know, our Kingdom has been in a peaceful alliance with the Mer for decades.”

Sobel blinks at him, then turns to address the growing crowd, instead. “It is thanks to Mr. Webster here that we were able to accomplish this deed,” he announces. “After all, he managed to befriend the creature enough to allow us to get close to it.”

David gapes, realization dawning as bile rises in his throat. “What?”

“What?” mumbles Joe.

Lipton steps forward out of the crowd, his gaze flickering uncertainly between the key figures of the confrontation. “David? Is this true?”

“Wha - no! No, no, I have _nothing_ to do with his crimes!” exclaims David, flinging a hand out to point at Sobel for good measure. He glances down to meet Joe’s eyes, desperate to defend himself after so recently beginning to repair their cracked relationship. “I… Joe is my friend, yes. He saved me when I fell overboard. But I would _never_ betray his trust and do something like this! How the hell did you even know about us?”

Cobb shrugs jauntily, a malicious smirk on his face. “Should’ve been more careful, Webster,” he drawls. “Staying up every night, lounging on the beach with a fish where anyone can see you. All I had to do was wander off while Martin took his nap, and there you were.”

David meets Johnny’s eyes in the crowd; the man is aghast with guilt and burgeoning anger, though on whose behalf is anyone’s guess. “You bastard,” he mumbles.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” asks Skip.

“Good fuckin’ question,” replies Penkala.

David swallows, noting the excess saliva and repressing the urge to retch. This is _his_ fault - he’d grown careless, hadn’t noticed Cobb watching them on the beach, hadn’t thought anyone would find his behavior odd. He’d gotten so caught up in his newfound thing with Joe that he’d forgotten how most people viewed the Mer, viewed people like him.

And now Joe is paying for it.

“I…”

“Wasn’t too surprising, really,” Cobb blathers on. “Half-breeds like you always lean towards the degenerate half, anyway.”

A flurry of disgusted and indignant objections are shouted from the crew. Hoobler, in particular, has to be restrained before he can lunge at Cobb barehanded.

“Say that to my face, you slimy son of a bitch!”

“You want me to say it again?”

“That’s enough.” Sobel’s bark forces a restless silence upon the crew. Shifty Powers quietly asks after Lip, to which someone assures him that the sailor has gone to fetch Captain Nixon, so they’ll have backup soon.

David refuses to wait. “You can’t keep him captive,” he insists. “Not unless you want to start an all-out war between us and the Mer.”

“What the Royal Navy wishes to do is none of your concern, Mr. Webster,” says Sobel icily. David gasps, his shock mirrored by the rippling whispers of the crew as well as Joe, whose eyes widen minutely from their half-closed state.

“Wait, does he even know who I am?” he muses under his breath.

“You’re not serious? You represent the Navy? The Kingdom _wants_ to go to war with the Mer?” Even after stating it out loud, David cannot comprehend it. Fifty years of peace and prosperity is invaluable. Why would the King wish to disturb that? Is it the King’s plan at all?

Before Sobel offers an explanation, Lipton reappears with Nix at his side. The captain squints for a moment as his eyes adjust to the light, hair ruffled and shirt askew in his definitely hungover state. His eyes widen as he takes in the commotion before him.

“Uh, are you sure I’m not still drunk, Lip?” he asks.

“I can’t answer that, sir, but you can believe your eyes.”

“Sobel!” Nix storms towards them and David breathes a quick sigh of relief. Certainly the captain will be able to sort things out. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Ah, Captain Nixon.” The disdain Sobel feels for the man has never been more prevalent in his tone. “Nice of you to join us.”

“Care to explain why there’s a Mer bleeding out on my deck?”

“I have a name,” Joe grumbles. “And somebody else’s gonna be bleedin’ out when this shit wears off.” David kneels down next to him, carding a hand through chocolate curls, though it is more to reassure himself than Joe. Nix glances at them, reading the situation in a moment and quirking an eyebrow at David as if to commend him for his affair, before looking to Sobel expectantly.

Sobel’s answer blindsides them all. Instead of explaining, the man announces, “By the power invested in me as an officer of the Royal Navy, I am hereby commandeering this ship for military purposes. Captain Nixon, you are to surrender all authority to me or face charges of treason.”

An incredulous silence falls over the _Currahee._

“Hey, Don, did I hear that right?"

“Yeah, Skip, I think we heard him right.”

David gawks at the man. Beside him, a freezing hand searches out his own and Joe’s claws dig into the cut on his palm, reminding him of what is at stake should he fail, and he squeezes back regardless of the pain.

Nix laughs. “Sorry, what?” And when Sobel’s expression doesn’t change, “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“I will repeat myself if necessary, but I doubt you need me to,” drawls Sobel. From his coat pocket he withdraws a sheaf of paper and flourishes it in Nix’s face.

The captain snatches it up and reads it, his expression growing steadily darker. Then he looks up and barks, “Bull!”

“Yessir?”

“You did a stint with the Navy. Come look at this for me.”

Sobel scowls at the implication that his documents may be illegitimate but says nothing. Meanwhile, the sea of sailors parts to let Bull trudge forward, unlit cigar betraying his discomfort with the situation. He reads over the papers slowly, then looks up with a carefully neutral mask cracked only by the curl of his lip. “‘fraid it looks all right ‘n’ proper, Cap’n. Says here that… Captain… Sobel, uh, has the authority t’ commandeer any ship he’s posted on and impress anyone into service while he’s followin’ orders from his superiors.”

“Which I am,” Sobel emphasizes.

A current of agitation whips through the crowd as it begins to dawn that the man is serious. David is nauseous at the possibility that the Kingdom really _does_ want to incite war with the Mer, and he’s facilitated the first step by allowing them to take Joe.

His eyes go straight to Joe, who looks at him with an indecipherable confluence of emotions, not the least of which is disbelief. “Damn, Web,” he mumbles, “wish you’d told me ya wanted to start a war. My guards won’t be worried for a quarter moon.”

David chuckles, sniffles a bit. “You told them to leave you alone so you could spend time with me.”

“Sure fuckin’ did. Ah, well.” He shrugs as much as he’s able to and David lets out a hysterical giggle. He presses his hands to Joe’s side to help stem the sluggish bleeding and joins the rest of the crew in looking to Nixon for guidance.

The captain scrubs his face harshly, pulls at his hair until it sticks straight up, and then turns to Sobel with resolution in his eyes.

"No," he says.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no," Nix repeats, as awestruck murmurs ripple through the crew. "With all due respect, Captain Sobel, I'm not about to give up control of _my_ ship to someone who is clearly incompetent. Nor can I condone this," he gestures to Joe, "even if it is a royal mandate. Going to war with the Mer would be economic suicide. And stalking Webster so you can kidnap the person that saved him is a low blow, Cobb.” The man frowns but says nothing. “So I’m afraid we’ve come to an impasse.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Nixon,” Sobel snaps. “Unless you want your whole crew to hang for treason?”

“They have nothing to do with this. I’m the one telling you no.”

Nix stands tall, unflinching even in the too-close face of Sobel, and a surge of admiration for the man rushes through David. He’d thought they were kindred spirits, with the shackles of high society tying them down. Now he sees that years of captaining the _Currahee_ has given Nixon a backbone that he can only aspire to.

He is not the only one that approves of Nix’s defiance - approving nods abound - but he is also not the only one concerned, especially when Sobel says, “Fine. I assume you aren’t going to come quietly.”

“Bold of you to assume I would do anything quietly.”

The crew’s snickers end abruptly when Sobel sweeps back his coat and unsheathes a Navy-issue saber in the Captain’s direction. “Then I’ll have to detain you by force.”

“Hey, hey! What the fuck?” Skip shouts, and he’s not the only one; the deck seethes with movement as sailors move forward to create a human barrier between their captain and first mate. Nix’s eyes are wide, clearly not expecting his crew to come to his aid.

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of understanding,” starts Lip.

“Are you aiding and abetting, Mr. Lipton?”

“I -”

“Don’t, Lip,” says Nix. He reaches out to touch his friend’s shoulder, but his glare is solely for Sobel. “Somebody fetch my sword.”

“But Captain!”

“Do it!” It is only when he is sure that the order has been obeyed that Nix speaks again. “I lose, you can charge me with treason or whatever you’d like. But my men are to remain guiltless, understand?”

“If they continue to do their jobs adequately, I will spare them from any legal harm,” responds Sobel, though he looks as though the words are pulled from him along with one or two teeth.

“Nix, this is ridiculous,” says Lipton.

“Yeah, it is,” Nix responds. “But you’re all hard-working men with careers ahead of you. I’m not letting you take the fall for this.” He takes the rapier that Shifty reluctantly passes to him and settles into a dueling position that doesn’t suit him in the least. The circle of sailors expands to accommodate the incipient swordplay, and with scowls on the faces of both participants, they begin to circle each other in a slow dance.

David looks on, dread hollowing a pit in his stomach. Joe grabs his attention by scratching his hand roughly. “Hey, go stab him or something,” he hisses.

“What? I’m not going to go stab a Navy officer!” David whispers back.

“Why not? It would fix all our problems!”

“I don’t even have anything to stab him with!” The clash of swords grows more frantic: David presses his hands to Joe’s side and pushes, though the Mer shifts only an inch or two across the deck. “Go, now, Joe! Get out of here!”

“What? Web, no.”

“Nobody’s paying attention -”

“Web, that shit hasn’t worn off yet,” says Joe, fingers twitching and tail flicking sluggishly against the deck. It hadn’t occurred to David to pull out the drug-tipped dart, but he does so now. “I can’t move, I sink. I can’t move, I can’t push water through my gills. And you might have a thing for drowning, but I don’t. The only reason I ain’t unconscious right now is ‘cause that dosage was for humans.”

He’s right, and it hurts to know it. David squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a low string of curses, racking his mind for a possible out to this situation they’ve found themselves in. All that comes to mind, though, is how none of this would have happened if he hadn’t met Joe in the first place.

But he can’t bring himself to regret that.

He opens his eyes to see his fear realized. Nix has a great many talents, but combat is not one of them; the captain must have known that, and makes a valiant effort, but soon enough his sword is whipped from his hand to clatter on the ground. The point of Sobel’s rapier rests at the man’s collarbone, grazing his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

“Well, I suppose that’s that, then,” the man says reluctantly.

David is moving before his mind catches up with his body. “No!” he shouts, drawing attention as he storms towards Sobel.

He has no plan, so when Cobb steps into his path David does what feels most natural and punches him in the face. Pain blossoms in his hand but it is nothing compared to the muted whistles of delight from the crowd and Joe’s hoot of, “Damn, Web!” as the man reels.

“Out of my way,” he growls.

Cobb takes a swing and misses, but catches David in the stomach with his knee and then with a lucky right hook, and David’s not a fighter. He goes down hard, coughing and grimacing at the taste of copper.

“You like that, Webster?” Cobb kicks him again. David curls into himself, but manages to grab the man’s ankle and yank him off balance, sending him tumbling to the floor.

He should end it there, but blood pounds in his eardrums and a war chant that sounds vaguely Aquan rages in his soul, and his pacifist morality withers in the face of _this is the man that hurt Joe,_ and he scrambles to tower over Cobb and beat the man to a bloody pulp, and fists are flying and people are cheering and yelling and everything is red and warm and -

There’s a bee-sting pain in his neck. David gets in another two hits before something begins to feel off; his muscles begin to resist their orders, arms falling drunkenly to his side, and his throat spasms with the effort of taking in a breath despite its obligation to do so.

“What -”

Cobb pushes and David topples onto his side, limp and unresisting like a docile cat. Panic seizes him as his every attempt to move is met with nothing but static in his limbs. He can barely shift his gaze to Cobb’s feet instead of the wooden deckboards.

“Good thing I stole two of those things from Spina,” the man jeers, spitting blood in David’s face. He can’t even flinch. “Not so tough now, huh, Webster? Damn, I didn’t think you had it in ya. Too bad!”

There are a great many insults that David wants to throw at him, but his vocal cords are uncooperative. He can feel his breath shallow as his lungs refuse to take in oxygen, and he’s drowning _again_ , but this time Joe really won’t be coming to rescue him.

David can hear him, though, through the rushing sound of blood in his ears - faint, but there, frantic but reassuring.

“Web, hang in there, don’t - _angelfish,_ it’s alright, _stay with me, Gods I’m going to tear that man limb from limb and feed him to my kin,_ Web!”

“Somebody shut him up.” Sobel’s voice. “Take him to the bilge; Nixon and Webster to the brig. And clean yourself up, Cobb.”

_“David, if you die now after I saved you two fucking times, I will resurrect you just to kill you again!”_

He would smile if he could, but David feels so lightheaded he’s about to drift away on the current. This time, he chooses to let darkness overtake him.

* * *

“Hey, Webster. You awake yet? You’re still breathing, which is good. I’m afraid your friend would rip my throat out if I tried to ‘kiss of life’ you. Come on, up and at ‘em.”

Despite what he may think, it is not Nix’s pep talk that rouses David from the edge of the abyss; it is the sharp, frightening awareness that comes when the poison wears off and his facilities return to him. A spontaneous breath storms his lungs and David falls into consciousness abruptly, jerking upright with a gasp and wide eyes.

“Huh. It worked,” Nix says.

David, meanwhile, pants like he’s just swum a thousand miles as he struggles to regain his bearings. The room is dark save for the glow of midday sun from a singular porthole near the ceiling, which highlights stripes of the floor in yellow and illuminates the overwhelming amount of dust wafting through the air.

His thoughts are a muddled cocktail of pain and confusion and unrest. “What… what happened?”

“Depends. What do you last remember, buddy?” Nix helps him into a vertical position, leaning against the wall and half-tilted against his shoulder for support. He is oddly hyper-aware of every muscle in his body, from the hitched intake of breath to his wiggling toes, and

It doesn’t take long for David to remember, and he chuckles wryly. “Beating the shit out of Cobb.”

“Yep, you sure did that. I’m sure the rest of the crew are jealous you got to him first.”

“Too bad. He deserved it after hurting Joe.” Oh, Gods, what has he done? “Where is he? How is he? Do you know?”

Nix winces. “Sorry, Web, haven’t heard anything since they put us down here a couple hours ago. I’m sure he’s fine, though. If Sobel really wants to use him to start a war, he won’t harm the guy until he’s in a position to do so.” The captain sighs and lets his head thump against the wall, a defeated furrow marring the smooth plane of his forehead. “I really fucked up there, didn’t I?”

“No,” David says instinctively. “You did what you thought was best, and nobody is going to blame you for that. You went toe-to-toe with a Navy officer and took the fall so that nobody else has to.”

“Because I know my parents can bail me out,” Nix gripes, sounding more irritated with himself than anything else. “I’m not worried ‘cause I know as soon as my dad catches word of all this, he’ll be demanding an audience with the King and claiming it’s ‘all a misunderstanding.’ Not for my sake, of course, just to protect the Nixon honor, but he’ll get me out of it. These guys don’t have that privilege.”

David nods, an image of his own father appealing to the King coming to mind. No doubt the Webster influence will save him from the death penalty, but… “Even so, there’s no telling what the punishment will be. Will your father take the _Currahee_ away from you?”

“You know, probably. Fuck.” Nix buries his face in his hands, and the air itself feels laden with his despair. “But… I love this ship, but I care about my men more. I’ll do anything to protect them, even if I have to leave them in the end. Don’t tell anyone I said that, it’ll ruin my reputation.”

David smiles, thinking of the way Nix’s crew had formed a physical barrier between him and Sobel. He has a feeling the crew is rather more attached to Nix than the ship, too. “I think they already know.”

The muffled sound of footsteps outside the door brings their conversation to a halt. David’s not sure who he expects to be checking on them, but he breathes a sigh of relief when the door creaks open and Lipton’s familiar face pokes inside.

Tension eases from his expression as soon as he catches David’s eyes and he sighs. “Oh, thank goodness. I’m not allowed to talk -”

“Too late, Lip,” Nix teases.

“Hush, _you,_ you’re getting quite a talking-to when all this is over.” And to know that Lipton sees an end to this catastrophe is just as reassuring as his smile. “I’ll be outside keeping watch and pretending that this room is soundproof.”

He steps aside and Spina makes his way into the room, carrying his small bag of medical supplies. He sits down, asking David a few routine questions before beginning to casually check him over.

“You’re real lucky, you know,” he frowns. “Those darts are meant to kill. If you were human you would have stopped breathing then and there.”

David swallows, infinitely grateful for his mother's bloodline and the enhanced fortitude it grants him. He may not have the strength to fully utilize it, but his cells remember where they come from. "Yeah, I know. Is Joe alright?"

"Fine. Just a scratch, really, and the poison had basically worn off by the time Cobb finished draggin’ him down to the bilge." Of what David knows of him, Spina is not a particularly emotive person, but if the expression on his face can be described as anything, it is _loathing._ “Bastard stole from my stores without knowin’ what he was doin’. Swear, when we get out of this fix, I want a cabin to m’self, you hear that?” He shoots Nix a petulant look and the disgraced captain laughs.

“Ralph, we get out of this all intact, you can have my cabin,” he says.

“You swear, Cap’n?”

“Yeah, ‘d be the least I can do. I’ll take Sobel’s. Fuck.” He swipes at his face. “You all really think there’s a way out of this?”

“Course. I’m sure folks’re already plannin’ a mutiny, t’ be honest with you. Nobody wants to follow Sobel. But we’ll wait for your command.” Spina starts to pack up his things, but with a deliberate slowness. “Don’t think we ain’t grateful for you trying to protect us, but we’re not just gonna sit back and let them take you down for treason. You’re our captain.”

David holds his tongue, watching Nix’s face journey from confusion to incredulity to an expression fond beyond belief as he realizes his loyalty is reciprocated. This time, when he laughs, there’s the edge of a sob in it. “Right. Of course.”

“Course. Your, uh, friend is gonna stick it out too,” says Spina, looking to him, and David’s stomach flip-flops.

“Joe? Did he talk to you?”

“Yeah,” the surgeon snorts, “he’s pretty damn confident he could smash a hole through the hull if he wanted, but I managed to talk him down from that. So he’s gonna go along with it for now. Said he wants to meet Sobel’s superiors and find out what’s really goin’ on.”

“I see.” David isn’t sure how he ought to feel about that. He needs to see that Joe is okay with his own eyes, but to know that he remains a prisoner, crammed in the dirty and dark belly of the _Currahee_ below them _,_ is nauseating. And it’s his fault. “Can I… would you tell him something for me?”

“I ain’t gonna be your messenger boy, Webster. But yeah, I’ll tell him,” says Spina.

He swallows. “Just tell him I’m sorry. Please.”

Spina stares at him for a moment, but a quick rap on the door catches everyone’s attention. It seems their time is up. “Ah, hell,” he sighs. “Sure, Web. I’ll tell him. In the meantime, just… hang in there, guys. We’ll figure it out.”

“We’re wanted on deck, Spina,” Lipton’s tired voice calls.

“Alright, Lip.” He salutes Nix and the man salutes back, probably swifter than ever before.

“Thanks, Spina. And you too, Lip,” he raises his voice to an unnecessary volume. “Keep our boys in line, okay?”

David can hear the smile that must pull at the sailor’s mouth. “Of course, Captain.” Then Spina leaves, the door clicks shut, and the two prisoners are quiet, each left to their own guilt-ridden thoughts.

* * *

When their cell has been near entirely submerged into darkness, Malarkey stops by with two pathetic bowls of gruel for them.

“Sorry, boys, I’m not allowed to spare anything else,” he announces loudly even as he pulls a loaf of bread from under his shirt and passes it to them, grinning. David opens his mouth, about to point out the discrepancy between his words and actions, but Nix elbows him and gives him a look.

“Damn. Well, thanks, I guess,” he says, frowning at the bowl of questionable sustenance. “What even _is_ this?”

“Nothing you won’t eat, Cap’n,” says Malarkey. “Oh, and Web?”

“Hmm?”

“Liebgott had a message for you. Uh, he said not to apologize ‘cause he was dumb enough to get caught in the first place, and he needs to know if the Navy really does wanna start a war. Said you shouldn’t worry your pretty little head about him.” Malarkey winks at him, then says awkwardly, “The wink was part of the message. He made me promise to do it.”

David covers his face to smother a laugh; it is ridiculous and yet exactly like Joe to flirt with him through a messenger. Maybe they will be okay. “Thanks, Malarkey. I won’t make you pass anything on to him. Unless you’d like to -”

“Nah, not really interested in playing courier. Hang in there, Nix, we’ll rescue from Webster yet,” he teases before ducking out the door.

“Hey!” He falls quiet for a moment, biting his lip anxiously. “Am I really that bad?”

“Nah,” says Nix, already eating. It seems his standards truly are this low; when you live on a ship, they have to be. “They just like giving you shit. Skip talks twice as much as you do, but at least your sentences make sense.”

“Heh. Right.”

* * *

And so the two of them live as prisoners, and the days pass on and on until they blend into a monotonous series of brief check-ins, rancid meals, and the occasional encounter with a rat. (Actual rats, not Cobb, though there are plenty of those, too.)

Someone passes along the news that they’re heading back to Port Toccoa, to meet with a Colonel in the Navy. Sobel’s plan to ingratiate himself with the higher-ups is quite an ambitious one, which involves bringing the man directly on board to reveal his “historic” acquisition. From there, the assumption is that Joe will be used as a hostage to fuel the awaited dispute, leading to all-out war.

The crew of the _Currahee_ is determined to see said plan fail, and so is David.

Petty mutinies abound: orders are deliberately misunderstood, formalities are loaded with disdain, and bodily harm is narrowly avoided on account of “accidents.” (The best one, by far, is the story of how Shifty had nearly cracked Sobel’s head like an egg with a dropped coconut, but his response had been so convincingly horrified and apologetic that even Sobel couldn’t punish the boy. On the bright side, he’d gotten the coconut open.)

Their revolution proper, however, is on hold until Nix gives the cue. As to when that will be, the captain has not deigned to share; David has an inkling of his plan, but chooses to let Nix call the shots.

This is _his_ ship, after all.

David cannot quite comprehend how Sobel has not yet realized the precarious state of his authority. According to reports, the man is just as obliviously arrogant and demanding as before his takeover, convinced that the mere threat of imprisonment will keep the men in line. It is simply more proof that he isn’t suited to lead.

There is only so much complaining about Sobel and Cobb that they can do, however. David thinks about his mother, the ocean, and Joe.

From what he’s heard, Joe is taking his captivity rather well, considering the situation. Everyone refuses to carry messages between them after Joe had described a pseudo-sexual fantasy involving David in such detail that Bull had literally covered Garcia’s ears while Martin cursed him out.

(Bull had refused to repeat any of what he’d said to David. It was vaguely disappointing.)

So David is left to wonder what Joe is feeling, and thinking, and doing, and whether the cut on his side has scarred over or faded away, and what he plans to do when they get out of here, and how he feels about the fish they’ve been catching for him, and any number of other mysteries that come to mind. He wonders what Joe’s favorite color is. He wonders why Joe always spoke in Aquan to him instead of Common.

He wonders who Joe really is, and what will happen when they reach Port Toccoa.

It is not long until they find out.

David and Nix cannot see the sun from their picture frame of a porthole, so all he knows is that it is late morning when the rocking of the _Currahee_ lessens, as if they are approaching shallower waters. Footsteps pounding across the decks above them signal an increase in activity.

Nix straightens, scratching through the rather impressive beard he’s managed to grow while they’ve been imprisoned. David doesn’t look much better; he’s just growing used to the itchiness. He wonders what Joe will think of it.

“We’re docking,” he declares. “It’s happening, Web.”

“We’re doing it?”

The captain nods, beginning to pace the minuscule length of their cell. “We’ll wait until Colonel Sink is here to make our grand entrance. The boys know what to do, though. Somebody will be down here to let us out as soon as it’s safe.”

It is all coming to a head. David feels jittery, nervous and exhilarated all at once, like he’s out on the ocean for the first time again.

For the two of them, though, there is nothing to be done but wait and listen to the cacophony of a crew busy at work. _Currahee_ slows to a gentle bobbing in the waves when she is finally docked. David strains his hearing, but hears nothing until the sharp blow of a horn announces the Colonel’s arrival.

“Who is that?” he asks.

“Penkala, probably. Be grateful Skip isn’t allowed to do it anymore, I think he ruptured my eardrum once.”

David snickers, but says nothing.

The silence doesn’t last long. He’s always considered himself to be a rather patient person, but to be isolated and unaware of the goings-on above deck, combined with the hope of their imminent release, is driving him just a bit mad. “Is it time yet?”

“Look, Web, I don’t know what’s going on. Sobel’s probably making some long-winded speech-”

The door creaks, just before Nix stalks over and yanks it open. Skinny Sisk gives the two of them an encouraging smile and whispers, “Alright, Cap’n, we’ve gotta interrupt fast. Cobb went down with a couple other men to bring the Mer up.”

It’s fascinating to watch Nix’s transform from defeated prisoner to unflappable captain in a matter of seconds. David’s eyes track the minute straightening of his shoulders, the twitch of his lips into a smirk, and the spark of life that reignites in his eyes, and tries to match Nix’s confidence in his own stature.

“Good,” he says. “Got my sword?”

“Sure do.”

“Perfect. If it comes down to it, Web, you think you could fight like you did with Cobb?” David isn’t certain he could, but he agrees regardless. “Alright, boys, let’s throw a coup d’etat.”

Their trio sneaks through the ship quickly, the sound of thumping and heavy exertion betraying Cobb’s work below, having to carry an undoubtedly-unhelpful Joe up to the top deck. (Serves him right.) Before he opens the door to the top deck, Nix takes a moment to sort through his hair and glance at them.

“Look alive, boys,” he crows, before slamming the door open and strutting into the fresh air.

David follows in Nix’s footsteps blindly, shielding his eyes from the glare of the forgotten sun. When his eyes have adjusted, he surveys the delighted crew gathered behind an absolutely murderous Sobel, and an older gentleman in military uniform with his entourage, watching them bemusedly.

"Captain Sobel," he drawls as the man stammers, "I seem to recall you sayin' that Captain Nixon had gone overboard in an unfortunate accident."

"Oh, is _that_ what we're calling it now?" Nix says, arching one eyebrow. "I might have preferred that to being a prisoner on my own ship. More fresh air. Colonel Sink, nice to see you again."

He nods to the man, who side-eyes Sobel, tomato-red in fury. David scowls at him, the puzzle pieces slotting into place to reveal an altogether-unpleasant picture. Sobel must've been planning to kill them after he'd delivered Joe to the Navy. Bastard. "Well then. Nixon, glad to see you're alive and well. And you, boy. Are you Webster's son?"

David jumps, not expecting to be addressed; he nods to Colonel Sink, one hand coming up to half-cover his scruff. "Yes, sir, I am."

"Were you 'mysteriously drowned,' too?"

He snorts despite himself. "I suppose I was."

"Interesting. Captain Sobel, what have you to say for yourself? Or did you invite me here merely to play the damn fool?"

"I - no - they -" Sobel looks as if someone has reinforced his spine with an iron rod as he struggles not to death glare them. "I had to detain these two after they challenged my right to commandeer this vessel for military purposes. Nixon here threatened me with bodily harm -"

"Only after you pulled a sword on him!" Skip exclaims, to general agreement from the crew.

"-and Mr. Webster attacked another able-bodied sailor."

"Is this true?" The man asks, fixing the two of them with a look.

David winces. He hasn't fully unlearned his need to impress authority figures, though Sobel had dulled the instinct quite a bit on account of deserving no respect. "Well, yes, but -"

"I'm afraid we don't owe you an explanation, Colonel," Nix interrupts. "Not if Sobel's reason for bringing you here is true."

He is swiftly backed by most of the crew in a silent motion of solidarity: if the Navy is intent upon using Joe to start a war, they will not find it easy to make it through the men of the _Currahee._ Even if it means treason. David feels Martin brush his shoulder in a brief touch of support, catches Hoobler's eye and sees his toothy smile, and will be forever grateful to these men for gifting him their trust in the most difficult of times.

"I'm afraid I don't rightly know what you mean, Nixon," says Colonel Sink, frowning. If he is lying, David cannot tell. "But I think it's best if Captain Sobel gets on with it."

There is yelling, thumping, and then the door to below-deck swings open on its hinges.

“And I will,” says Sobel.

Into the sunlight Cobb and his entourage heave a writhing, cursing Joe Liebgott, entangled in the same net they’d caught him in. It’s obvious that Cobb is doing most of the work, judging by the loose grip Bull has on the net and the disgusted looks on his sailors’ faces. Nevertheless, he manages to drag Joe onto the deck.

“I hope you like the feeling of teeth in your neck, ‘cause that’s what you’re gonna get after this, you clownfish,” the Mer snarls. Then he catches David’s eye and winks. “Hi, angel.”

David can’t take his eyes off of him. Joe is paler than before, jawline graced with the slightest bit of stubble; his skin glistens with the slimy residue of bilge water. The harpoon that grazed his side has left him with a long, dark scar, which crinkles as his tail lashes back and forth. Despite these markers of captivity, however, those golden eyes are as bright and lively as ever, shining with relief as they meet David’s.

“Hi, Joe,” he breathes.

“What in tarnation…?” the mumbled exclamation of Colonel Sink distracts them all. “Captain Sobel, this is…”

“We captured it in the island ruins, sir,” Sobel preens, looking every bit the part of the triumphant fisherman.

Joe wrestles with the edges of the net until he can pull it over his head, leaving it tangled around his lower half. He straightens, sweeping his hair back from his face, and says, “Long time no see, Colonel Sink.”

“Ah…” To the surprise of everyone in attendance, the white-haired man bows at the waist, his lined face wrinkled with a baffled sort of recognition. “Your Highness. This is... _quite_ the surprise.”

“I should hope so.”

“Sorry, what did he call you?” asks Nix.

David couldn’t close his mouth even if he wanted to. Colonel Sink is not the type of man to address someone with a title they did not deserve, and Joe is showing no denial of the appellation; in fact, he glows with a newfound air of superiority. “You…” he swallows, overwhelmed with disbelief. “You’re _royalty_?”

“What, I don’t look the part?” Joe softens, his eyes and words only for David. _“Sorry, Web. Didn’t think it was all that important to tell you.”_

_“Excuse me? Wasn’t important!?”_

“ _I didn’t want you to start treating me, yanno, like somebody important. Didn’t want you to stop arguing with me. I was gonna tell you, swear._ But then your _friend_ here decided it would be a good time to start a war,” Joe switches back to Common, glaring at a near-hysterical Sobel.

Colonel Sink’s eyes snap to the captain and he charges forward to confront the man, grabbing him by the collar in a fit of outrage. “Captain Sobel! What is the _meaning_ of this? Abducting the prince of the Mer from protected waters and bringing him here? Do you _want_ us to go to war, boy?”

“I - I was only following orders, sir,” stammers Sobel, eyes darting about wildly.

“Well, which imbecile gave you that order?”

“M-major Horton, sir.” The officer reels back, which Sobel takes as an excuse to ramble on in hopes of exonerating himself. “I received a - a letter from him, sir, when we last docked, before we took on Mr. Webster. It gave the orders to capture a Mer at any costs and bring them back here, where I was instructed to wait for the Major to send someone to collect them. But, seeing as you were here, sir, I figured it would be most efficient to bring you on board instead of waiting. Are you… do you mean to say that Major Horton was acting alone, sir?”

As they watch, the Colonel swipes a hand across his face, troubled expression seeming to age him ten years in the blink of an eye. “Captain Sobel, Major Horton has been on a diplomatic mission for the past two months. There is no possible way he could have sent you that letter.”

Silence falls upon the _Currahee,_ punctuated by the confused whispers of the sailors and Sobel’s panicked sputtering. “I - sir, the letter appeared completely genuine.”

“I don’t doubt that, Captain Sobel. An’ I think there’s somethin’ afoot here that’s bigger than all of y’all.”

David frowns, perturbed at the implication of his words. Joe voices his thoughts. “Someone wants to use the military to start war between our tribes. And whether you’d caught me or somebody less important, it would’ve worked if this guy hadn’t gone straight to you in his attempt to brownnose. Huh. Guess I oughta go easy on you, huh?” he says to Sobel, flashing his teeth in a leer.

The man turns paper-white in fear as it finally sets in that his actions were not, in fact, sanctioned by his superiors, and therefore the legal protection he had relied upon is moot. Cobb, on the other hand, remains too mouthy for his own good. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? We got false instructions tellin’ us to kidnap this guy, and it turns out he’s a prince? And I’m -”

With a powerful swipe of his tail, Joe sweeps the man off his feet. In a flash the Mer has him pinned, razor-sharp teeth at his throat in a deadly smile. David’s breath catches and he has to look away to sort out how to appear disapproving and not intensely turned on by the display of strength.

“You’re gonna be bleeding out in a second if you don’t keep your mouth shut,” Joe snarls as the rest of them look on. (Skip lets out a soft cheer in the background.) Cobb, meanwhile, looks as though he’s about to have an aneurysm from fear. “You got that?”

He nods frantically.

“Good.” Joe pulls away and the man scrambles backward.

David covers his smile. “So what happens now, Colonel?”

Colonel Sink seems to be asking himself the same question, but he snaps into action at David’s query. “Someone escort Captain Sobel back to barracks, I’ll question him later. Prince Joseph, I must offer my deepest apologies -”

“Aww, don’t bother, Colonel,” Joe brushes him off, though he perks up at the attention. “I’m just grateful you’re not actually trying to kill me. As long as you do your damn best to figure out who started this -”

“Oh, I will.”

“-and my friends get proper compensation for their troubles, I’ll be happy.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” the Colonel says, assessing Nix and his men. “They were willing to risk treason to prevent an unjust war. That deserves compensation.” Behind him, David catches the surprised and delighted whispers of his friends. “Captain Nixon, I’ll be in touch. Oh, and I’ll make sure to convey to your father the circumstances of this mix-up. He oughta be proud.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, sir,” says Nixon, frowning.

“No?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Well, boy, if you want me to keep quiet then I will. The rest of you, good work. I’ll send someone around and we’ll get things sorted out. Your Highness -”

“I’ll make sure my people know what’s going on,” Joe says. “So this, at least, doesn’t start anything. I’ll contact you through the usual channels when I get home.”

The Colonel nods. His gaze flickers over the _Currahee_ briefly before he turns, and with his guards and a dazed Sobel in tow, he marches off the ship into the dock’s crowds. Nix looks down at a still-cowering Cobb. “You can go, too,” he says mildly. The sailor wastes no time, clambering to his feet and stumbling off the ship, casting terrified glances at Joe all the while.

And then it’s all over.

The crew explodes into joyous chaos, cheering and embracing and celebrating their near-miss with disaster. Skip jumps straight into Malarkey’s arms only to be abruptly dumped on his ass; Bull and Martin are having an incredibly tender conversation with their eyes, and a crowd of boisterous sailors have lifted a laughing Nix up to parade him around the deck like a king.

David has eyes only for Joe.

He flings himself onto the Mer and kisses him like he’s afraid Joe is going to slip away if he doesn’t, but Joe is solid and alive and _here_ , arms wrapped tight around his waist and lips pressing back with equal fervor. His claws scratch through David’s shirt to leave angry red furrows and the sting is good, grounding. David kisses to memorize Joe, to _consume_ him, because for so long he wasn’t sure if he’d have the chance again and he doesn’t want to risk missing it.

They’re both panting when they finally separate. David loosens the vice grip he has on Joe’s hair, his forehead cool against David’s as they breathe together.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” Joe grins, his eyes miniature suns split by the dark sliver of pupils.

“Gods, I’m so glad you’re okay,” swears David. “But hey!”

“Ow! What?”

“You really couldn’t’ve told me that you were a prince?” he complains.

Joe winces. “I said I was sorry.”

“Yeah, but - oh, fuck it.” David kisses him again, smile betraying his tone. “I can’t be mad at you. Not when I’m this relieved.”

“‘S’at right? Huh. Guess I’ll just have to get kidnapped whenever I piss you off,” Joe teases between the kisses that David can’t help but plaster him with.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’ll try. As long as you don’t get yourself drugged again.” Joe’s smile falls and he avoids the next kiss, catching David’s chin. The serious look in his eye is sobering. “You really scared me, you know, Web. They dragged me down there before I knew if you were alive or not. You did a number on that guy, and it was pretty hot, but it wasn’t worth it.”

“He hurt you,” David insists. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I don’t regret it. And you know?”

“Yeah?”

“It felt pretty damn good.”

Joe laughs. “I’ll bet it did, Web. I’ll bet it did.”

“Hey, boys.” Nix, who has finally been let down from his human perch, struts over to them with all the pizzazz of a man with a new lease on life. David stands up and hugs him. "Whoa! Hi, Webster."

"Thank you," David says. "For everything."

"Yeah, no problem," says Nix, appearing uncomfortable with even the suggestion of gratitude. "Sorry my first mate abducted your boyfriend and tried to use him to start a war."

"Not your fault," Joe says, while David tries to sort through his feelings on the word 'boyfriend.' "Your crew has nothing but praise for you. Your ship needs a deep clean, though."

Nix laughs. "Trust me, I plan on staying in port until every last trace of Sobel is expunged from her. What are your plans? Web?"

It is a question David has adamantly not been thinking about, but his eyes go automatically to Joe when it is posed. "I need to make an appearance in the area and make sure folks knows I'm still alive," he says. "So my people aren't the ones to start the war we just avoided. And I've been out of the water _way_ too long for my tastes. My skin is so fuckin’ dry."

"That makes sense," shrugs Nix. "You want help getting over the side?"

"Nah, I can manage." Joe tears through the net until it is nothing but a frayed pile of rope and tosses it at David's feet. "Hey, Web?" David looks at him, the knot in his stomach at the thought of Joe leaving unraveling with his smile. _"Meet me down by the pier tonight? So we can talk?"_

_"Yeah. You promise you'll be there?"_

_"I won't leave you, Web. Take some time to destress, celebrate with your friends."_

David exhales slowly, allowing himself to believe it. "Okay. Go do what you have to do. I’ll see you tonight, Joe.”

“Come here.” Joe snags him by the pant leg and tugs until David kneels down for a kiss. _“I mean it, Web. I won’t go anywhere without talking to you.”_

“I know.”

“Well, then stop frowning like I just killed your guppy or something,” Joe gripes.

David laughs. “Okay, okay. Get out of here, Joe, before you dry up and we have to scrape you off the deck.”

“Damn straight.” The Mer drags himself to the edge of the boat, gives David a wink and a jaunty little wave, and disappears over the side with a splash. Seconds later, a hoot of delight rings through the air.

David suppresses his smile, his heart light at the sound of Joe’s obvious joy. He’s back where he belongs, and for now, that is all that matters. Their troubles, their relationship, all the problems caused by this incident, can wait until tonight. For now, he ought to enjoy all the time he has left on the _Currahee._

“Alright, Skip, what are you doing?”

“It’s called a conga line, Web! Join us!”

“I’d rather - well, I guess I have no choice.”

* * *

By nightfall, the _Currahee_ ’s day-long celebration of their Sobel-ousting has died down. Most of the men have retreated below deck to continue drinking or sleep, but even so, David no longer needs to sneak around.

His friends know he is going to speak with Joe, and it is okay.

Malarkey tells him to tell Joe hello and goodbye simultaneously, as no one had gotten the chance to properly send him off. Garcia shyly requests the same thing, and Bull starts to recite a bit of “folksy wisdom” about relationships before Martin lazily slaps a hand over his mouth. David chuckles and leaves them to it.

He's going to miss these men more than he can comprehend, but he doesn't have to say goodbye to them quite yet.

Joe, on the other hand, may be a different story.

David walks alone to the end of the dock. The moon is beautiful tonight, her curved horns pointing north towards his home, and for the first time in months he wonders how his father is faring. His grief and anger had broken their already fractured relationship, and David had left on his search for redemption as soon as he was able. He isn't eager to return, but the thought of returning home no longer fills him with dread.

He sits down, legs swinging off the edge of the pier, and nearly kicks Joe in the face when the Mer suddenly pops out of the water.

"Whoa, hey! Close one, Web!"

"Gods, Joe, don't _do_ that," David clutches at his chest, rolling his eyes at a grinning Joe Liebgott. In this moment, dark hair shiny and skin glowing in the pale moonlight, all traces of his captivity erased, he has never been more beautiful or more princely. It is just another reminder of the chasm between them.

Still, when Joe raises his arms with a hopeful smile, David does not immediately deny him. "This water is deep,” he says.

"I won't let you go," says Joe, smile all the reassurance he needs. David turns and slips off the pier into the water, heart fluttering a bit at the way Joe's arms rise to hold him tight. He wraps his own around Joe's neck and eagerly returns the open-mouthed kiss he is gifted, the taste of salt heavy on his tongue.

“I know,” David responds when he finally pulls away. “Look, I know you told me not to but -”

“Don’t you dare apologize for that piece of shit,” Joe demands, lips curled in a snarl. “Either of them. It’s not your fault they decided to do what they did.”

“But if I had, I don’t know, been more careful -”

“You don’t fuckin’ know if that would’a changed anything. You heard what the guy said. ‘Capture at any cost.’ If it wasn’t me, it would’a been someone else, and I wouldn’t stand for that. This way, I can explain what happened to my parents and we can work to figure out who _really_ wants war. You didn’t do anything wrong, Web.”

“‘Where is my guilt, except in playing with you, in loving you?’” murmurs David, a poem near-forgotten now coming to mind.

“Exactly,” Joe says, unaware of the reference.

David continues. “‘I cannot die for you, or with you either; the law of Fate keeps us apart.’” Suddenly it is all too much; his chest aches with the knowledge of who he is and who Joe is and how the space between them, minute physically as it is, yawns wide open with the reality of their lives. They had collided in a moment of pure chance, and though the gods have not yet seen to tear them apart, it can only be a matter of time.

Joe must sense his impending panic, because he squeezes David’s waist and nudges his cheek with a cold nose, drawing his attention.

“What do you want, Web?” he asks.

“You,” David responds immediately, desperately. He gestures to the air between them with a trembling hand. “But - this - we belong to different _worlds,_ Joe. My heritage doesn’t mean anything if I’m still human on the outside, if I can’t live in your environment without help. You’ve saved me twice now. And - look, you’re a goddamn _prince_ , Joe! I’m just a rich boy trying to be more than I am by pretending to understand the world when nothing makes a whit of sense anymore. Someone wants our people to fight and I don’t know why and-”

“Breathe, Web,” Joe says, and David lets out a shuddering exhale. The dark warmth of his Mer’s eyes conjures the phantom taste of chocolate in his mouth, rich sweetness overwhelming save in small quantities. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then give me time.” He presses on even when David opens his mouth to question him. “Our bloodlines don’t matter. I want to show you so much of my realm, Web. And I want to see everything on land that you want to show me, starting with that damn library you love so much. And I have an idea, but… I gotta figure it out. Can you wait for me?”

His answer was never in question, despite how many come to mind. “I will always wait for you,” says David. “But what’s your idea? How can we -”

Joe “shh”s him until David laughs and kisses him.

* * *

A chilly autumn wind buffets him from offshore as David stands in the tide, watching the reflection of a newly full moon ripple in the water. Twinkling around it like stars are the reflections of lights from the estate, blinking out one-by-one as the servants finish their nightly routines and settle down to sleep. David has made an effort to treat each one of them properly since he’d returned home two months ago, and he hopes that his father will continue to improve their lives.

He’d hugged his father for the first time in years tonight. It was a split-second decision, made just before he’d left the mansion through the kitchen door; his father had stiffened in his arms, but patted him awkwardly on the back.

“This is unusual, David.”

“Goodnight, father,” he’d said. He couldn’t manage an ‘I love you,’ but then again, neither could his father.

David wades further into the surf. The water is chilly, not yet drained of its summer heat yet slowly leeching the warmth from his skin with every new inch submerged. He doesn’t bother to look back until his toes are barely grazing the sand, saltwater licking at his chin.

He smiles, turns back to the ocean, and sees Joe.

“Hey, angelfish,” says the Mer. His hair is longer, tousled and curling around a thin circlet of white coral and pearls, and his grin is even brighter.

“Hi, Joe.” David swims a little closer to him, but for every foot of distance Joe swims away, smirking, until he has breathlessly chased Joe into deeper waters. Even when he can no longer touch the bottom, he is not scared. “Stop running from me!”

“Alright, alright,” Joe laughs. He swims close and the air between them hums with tension, but David does not lean forward to kiss him and break it. “I brought you something.” In his hands sparkles a gold necklace - the same one David had committed to the sea for his mother’s ceremony. David frowns, but allows Joe to close it around his neck, feeling the chain’s freezing touch on his collar.  

“Why this?”

“D’you trust me?”

“Yeah.”

“Stop kicking,” Joe says, gaze steady even as David’s eyes widen. “I’ll be with you, okay?”

Seafoam swirls around the two of them. David feels the bubbles brush his cheek like a mother’s kiss and smiles, exhales. “Okay, Joe.”

This time, when the sea closes over his head, there is nothing to resist.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a magnum opus for me, yall. longest thing i've ever finished. some notes: 
> 
> \- the quote near the end is from Ralph Humphries' trans. of Ovid's 'Metamorphoses,' the story of Apollo and Hyacinthus  
> \- you thought right, Martin is trans. there will be other trans characters I promise
> 
> if you made it this far, thank you SO MUCH for reading!! follow me at the same @ on tumblr (except with hyphens lol) for more shenanigans and the occasional update.


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